


When We Don't Have to Say Goodbye

by CupNoodles55



Category: Free!
Genre: Also Asahi has a potty mouth, Anxiety, But friendship, But it is not fluffy, Depression, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Shit Gets Sad, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Suicidal Ideation, seriously, there is fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-13
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-17 16:48:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 89,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28728402
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CupNoodles55/pseuds/CupNoodles55
Summary: "There wasn’t supposed to be another goodbye. Asahi was supposed to have been free of that. He was supposed to have his own authority to decide when he would say goodbye and to whom, and he hadn’t planned on it being this way at all ... They were supposed to have been done with that sticky burden of never knowing when hello would bring them back together again."In which Asahi and Kisumi struggle to stay together in the midst of circumstances beyond anyone's control.
Relationships: Nanase Haruka/Tachibana Makoto, Shigino Kisumi/Shiina Asahi
Comments: 88
Kudos: 22





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AsaKisu is a ship I have fallen head over heels for in a very short amount of time. Asahi and Kisumi are both such bright, fun, positive, and playful characters, but I believe they have their dark moments too, and this story truly explores that. I've read just about every AsaKisu one-shot in existence, but have not yet come upon a fully developed, multi-chapter story centered around them specifically. So I wrote one. 
> 
> My warning for you, should you read this, is that it is long and it is sad. There are happy moments, there are comforting moments, there will be smiles, but be prepared to feel the sting too. It's a novel, basically, with round characters and a full-bodied plot. All of it has been written already, so you may go into this knowing that it will never be abandoned, and you will get a full story out of it, with a resolution and everything.
> 
> To set the stage, this takes place starting about a year after the boys' freshman year in college. The timeline of some things, in reference to canon, has been just a tiny bit tweaked. However, you probably won't notice, so there you go.
> 
> If you, like me, are a fan of drama, heartbreak, and Shiina Asahi's POV, then proceed, read, enjoy, and let me know what you think.

**PART I**

Basketball was distinct for that sound — the squeak of rubber soles on shiny wooden floors, punctuated by the springy cadence of heavy _thunk_ ing amidst the patter of scrambling feet. There was the occasional swish of the net being disturbed or the jarring thud of the ball bouncing off the backboard. And of course the, most often testosterone-rich, hoots and hollers of excited voices calling for a pass or throwing shade at the other team. But the squeaking, that was always what reached his ears first, even before he could pull open the door to step onto the court.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like it. It had just taken a while to adjust to. He was used to the ambiance of rapid splashing, of moving water, of the rhythmic up and down between muffled, bubbling pressure and chaos. Swimming wasn’t a quiet sport by any means, but there was something about it that was more atmospheric than the land of squeaky shoes had to offer.

It _had_ taken a while, but he could confidently say he was used to it now. And in fact, the sound had grown on him. Not necessarily because of any kind of pleasure the sound itself introduced — it didn’t really. It was the association of that sound, the connotation of what it meant, and what he knew he’d find along with it that had begun to slowly incite some form of excitement in him.

When he carded his way into the student rec center on campus and opened the gym doors to that sound, nowadays his stomach tightened with a thrilling anticipation. And he realized, as the days went on, that that belly-swooping rush had gradually gathered intensity without his full recognition — until today, for instance, when he walked into Court Room One and felt his stomach dip into his knees and rapidly swing back up, leaving his toes tingling. Because it all sort of hit him in one rush today — the squeaking, and the dribbling, and the shouting, and the immediate lock of his gaze onto that cotton-candy pink hair bobbing up the court.

His chest inflated slowly, silently, expelling a breath that went unheard as his eyes followed the tumultuous movement across the room, absently donning his own smile in response to the grin underneath those playful purple eyes yards away.

Kisumi somehow always had the ball when Asahi happened to walk in. The redhead wondered how truly coincidental that was in real life. Or maybe this lollipop of a human being was _actually_ that good at basketball and everyone knew it.

Kisumi popped off the floor with a graceful layup just as Asahi had the thought, and the redhead shook his head to himself, rolling eyes at the way his friend coolly smiled off the hype that followed. The game kept moving, and he was tossed the ball again within seconds, swiftly performing an ankle-breaking crossover that had the opponent guarding him landing flat on his ass, again spurring an uproar of general excitement. He dribbled along the very edge of the court, keeping the ball controlled and in bounds, jogging leisurely in Asahi’s general direction, his vibrant eyes scanning the court for open teammates. He waited for an opposing player to take a swipe at the ball, before he tossed it fluidly behind his back into the hands of his teammate. It passed through two more allies before landing back in Kisumi’s hands, giving him enough time to appear at the end of the court again and pitch it in the net with a hook shot.

A whistle was blown. “That’s thirty!” hollered the court rep, spinning a finger over his head. “Switch it up!”

A few of the players groaned and complained about the abbreviated length of the game due to lopsided advantages, but they all obediently switched out with the students who had been waiting on the sidelines for a chance to grab the court. Kisumi jogged off with everyone else, receiving several back slaps and teasing ruffles to his hair as the other players passed him by and complimented his game. He smiled and rubbed at the back of his head modestly, but that was just for show. Kisumi was a cocky bastard on the inside, and anyone who knew him well enough ought to be fully aware of that.

Asahi remained planted where he was, allowing his peers to part past him on their way to the doors. Kisumi grabbed for a water bottle and downed it in seconds, using the back of his wrist to wipe the moisture away before he finally turned and locked eyes with the redhead. His lips turned up immediately, eyes already aglitter with a mixture of fondness and mischief.

“Asahi!” he said brightly, strolling over to initiate a high-five. His fingers wrapped around Asahi’s hand and left a lingering grip on him even after their arms lowered between them. “Come to join us, I see.”

Asahi smirked. “What gives you that idea?” Kisumi’s fingers were warm and slick with sweat, but, being a swimmer, he wasn’t much put off by this. He neither removed his hand nor held him back.

Kisumi gave him a wide smile. “Well, the Great Shiina Asahi couldn’t possibly have come all this way just to watch some nobody like me dribble a ball, could he?”

Asahi snorted, letting his arm fall back to his side once Kisumi finally released his hand. “Right. _All_ the way from the biology building, a whole five-minute walk. It was grueling. You owe me big time.”

Kisumi giggled. “So you admit it then,” he said clasping his hands in front of him, elbows straight. “You did come just to see me.”

Asahi’s lips fell and he turned his nose up immediately. “I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. It was implied.”

“Maybe I was just dropping in on the way to my dorm to watch you lose real quick.”

“Ahh, well now that you’re here, you might as well hop in on a game.”

Asahi tossed his head stubbornly, gesturing to his feet. “I don’t have the proper footwear.”

“That’s okay. You can just use the shoes in your gym bag,” Kisumi said, popping the bottom of the bag hanging from Asahi’s shoulder.

The redhead scrunched up his face. “You’re a little shit.”

“You’re so sweet,” Kisumi giggled, throwing his own bag over his shoulder. “Court Room Two is open for free practice tonight. Want to play some one-on-one?” He turned without bothering to wait for a response, and walked off toward the left end of the court where another set of doors led onto the second court.

Asahi followed, but made a show of being obnoxious about it by puffing out a large sigh. “If you insist. I guess I have enough time to kick your ass.”

“What about my ass?” Kisumi said over his shoulder, smiling innocently.

Asahi scrunched up his nose and lifted his foot to nudge him in the back. Kisumi giggled as he stumbled gracefully through the door.

“Stupid,” Asahi grumbled, following in his wake.

He wouldn’t admit to the way his heart fluttered, watching Kisumi rake his fingers through his damp hair, eyes smiling as they took in the half-empty court. Asahi had decided he wouldn’t admit to things like that a long time ago — like when he first noticed his pulse doing weird things around his friend. And it was always stupid little things that caused a reaction, like the way Kisumi brushed his hair back, or when he innocently rolled his eyes up to pretend he wasn’t listening, or that little shimmy he gave his shoulders when he ate something he particularly enjoyed, or the million-and-one times throughout any given day that he would find sporadic little ways to touch Asahi with casual fingers. Dumb things. Nuances that didn’t need reactions like that, because Asahi _definitely_ wasn’t that sensitive to everything his friend did. No, of course not.

This side of the wall was much quieter, and much less crowded, as there were only a few students leisurely practicing solo in different corners of the room, and there were no over-hyped spectators taking up wall space either. All of the nets had been lowered, one on each end and two along each side. The boys dropped their bags at the base of the wall behind the furthermost goal on the right end of the court, and Kisumi fetched a ball from the bin in the corner, testing its buoyancy with a few flashy dribbles. Once Asahi exchanged his casual shoes for a pair of Onitsukas, Kisumi pressed the ball between his palms and tossed it straight at his chest. The redhead caught it, well-prepared, and smirked as he straightened back up to his full height.

“How was kinesiology?” Kisumi asked, smile pushing up his cheeks under his eyes.

Asahi distracted himself by dribbling the ball between his legs. “It was a drag. I can’t wait to get these stupid science classes out of the way.”

He tossed a free throw at the goal and the ball checked the backboard on its way through the net. Kisumi caught it and tossed it back, nodding for Asahi to shoot a few more warm-up shots.

“It’s only seventy percent of your degree, I’m sure,” Kisumi teased with a one-shoulder shrug, catching the ball again and tossing it back. “No big deal. You must be _super_ eager to get into the ethics of coaching?”

Asahi scoffed, watching the ball as he bounced it heavily a few times. “I just want to get out in the field. I’m tired of sitting in lecture halls.” He caught the ball mid-bounce and gave it a toss. It ricocheted off the rim. He _tch_ ed under his breath. “Do you know BLS and CPR are two _separate_ courses?”

Kisumi giggled to himself. “The gods forbid you be thorough about learning how to save someone’s life.”

“How often am I gonna have to perform CPR, really?”

Kisumi gave an exaggerated head nod, hands behind his back this time as he watched Asahi take another shot. “No, you’re right. The odds of someone drowning within your lifetime career of water sports are slim-to-none, I’m sure.”

“You’re a shoddy prick.”

“Ooh,” Kisumi giggled, voice lifting as though he’d been pleasantly prodded. “I felt that one.”

“I can _hear_ the sarcasm in your voice.”

“What do you mean, Asahi?”

Asahi passed the ball roughly. Kisumi held it up to his nose to hide his smiling cheeks.

“Let’s go. I’m warm.”

The basketball player raised a doubtful eyebrow. “You sure? I do love watching you take clumsy shots.”

“Ha!” Asahi pushed his sleeves up and bent his knees, crouching at the ready. He kicked his chin up with a spicy smirk, beckoning with his fingers. “You’re about to get whooped.”

Kisumi smiled pleasantly and dribbled the ball at his side. He raised a finger with his free hand. “You promise this time?” He glanced down at his naked wrist as though checking a watch, ball still rhythmically bouncing. “I’ve been waiting since middle school.”

Asahi dove forward and Kisumi twisted gracefully out of the way, his movements swift. He switched the ball from his right hand to his left and swooped it up behind Asahi’s back without breaking a sweat. The swish of the net was clean and clear. Kisumi flashed his teeth. Asahi narrowed his eyes.

* * *

He would have told anyone who’d listen how much he hated Kisumi their first year of middle school. He would have told anyone who _wouldn’t_ listen. He would have told Kisumi himself and, as a matter of fact, he did. Several times.

He was clingy. He was annoying. He never shut up about basketball, and never stopped prodding Asahi and the other boys to join his club, even after they won their first relay. He took up too much space, and he was a relentless teaser. Everyone thought he was so pleasant, but in truth he was devious beyond repair. He was the kind of sweet that made your teeth ache just looking at him. And he was a shameless flirter — with literally _everyone_. He liked playing mind games. He found it amusing. And no one but Asahi ever seemed bothered by it. No one except Nanase Haruka, maybe, but that might have been a different story. Kisumi was like the Cheshire Cat if he never disappeared. Sly, shifty, and completely unapologetic about his own existence.

He grew on Asahi like wild flowers, and the redhead hadn’t realized it for a second until his parents told him they’d be moving again, halfway through his second year of middle school, and his first gut-dropping thought was that he wouldn’t get to turn his nose away at Kisumi’s attempts to slide under his skin. That had quickly and alarmingly evolved into a very embarrassing breakdown before school could even start the next day, when Kisumi had casually commented that his expression looked as though he was trying to lay an egg.

Normally, Asahi would have flared up with a stuttering rebuttal about how Kisumi really needed to make a decision on what kind of animal he was going to insist on comparing Asahi to, which would have opened the door for a barrage of clever quips, but that day, none of that had happened. He’d just simply looked over at those shining lavender eyes next to him and burst into tears.

It was the first time he remembered Kisumi frowning.

Thankfully, at that time, they were the only two from their original friend group in that class, meaning Kisumi was the only important person present to witness this — besides the twenty other students who gaped at him like he’d just taken an arrow to the side of the head. But his friend had been surprisingly quick about jumping up from his seat to shield Asahi from view of the rest of the class by standing directly over his desk. It was the first time Asahi had ever used the term _friend_ when thinking about Kisumi.

He’d done an incredibly sloppy job of trying to pull himself together long enough to step out of the room, but Kisumi seemed equipped enough to handle that too. The moment Asahi had shakily pushed himself to his feet, Kisumi had placed the heel of his palm between his shoulder blades and held him close to his side as he walked Asahi out into the hallway and down the back stairwell that nobody used. Then he’d put Asahi in the corner, again using his body to shield him from sight of anyone who might possibly walk by, and he wrapped his arms around him and just let him cry.

All of this, he had done in complete silence. 

Asahi remembered everything about that moment. He remembered being surprised by how completely Kisumi’s shroud covered him. He remembered the pressure of the wall against his back. He remembered the stifling warmth of his overheating body being blanketed by another human being, and he remembered not at all being bothered by it. He remembered that Kisumi smelled like oranges, and he remembered actively wondering why. He remembered flaring up with anxiety about getting tears and snot all over Kisumi’s uniform and expressing this in an extremely muffled moan, to which Kisumi had simply tightened his hold with sureness. And he remembered crying even harder at that.

Kisumi had never asked him what was wrong, and somehow Asahi had known that was exactly the right thing for him to do in that moment. He wasn’t sure why, but if Kisumi had spoken, it would have been a different experience entirely, but he hadn’t. He never said a word, just stood there in resolution, still, solid, and calm for the entire fifteen minutes it took for Asahi to calm down. 

Asahi had stopped telling everyone how much he hated Kisumi after that, because it wasn’t true anymore.

* * *

“Dammit,” Asahi huffed under his breath, turning away with his hands on his hips before he could see Kisumi’s three-point shot make it in. He grimaced and closed his eyes against the beads of sweat dripping down his face, head tossed back. The salt was already beginning to sting. He hated that the most about non-water sports. Chlorine getting into his eyes was fine, but sweat? No thanks.

“Whew!” Kisumi sighed loudly, the humor and endorphins vivid in his voice. “I thought for sure I was going to miss that one.”

“Go ahead and rub it in,” Asahi said stiffly, using the hem of his shirt to wipe his face. “Fuck,” he hissed, trying to blink the burn away.

“You sweat like a pig outside of the water.”

“Pigs don’t sweat,” Asahi shot back, squinting at that stupid smile with one eye.

“They do a little bit. You don’t like American expressions? It’s funny.”

“They don’t make any sense.”

“Not if you don’t know the context.”

“Shit. Toss me a water.”

Kisumi ventured over to their belongings and fished out a bottle, lobbing it immediately to Asahi, who fumbled the catch for a brief second then poured half the bottle on his face. He flicked his head and wiped his eyes again, now blinking clearly. He blew out a pacified breath then downed the rest of the water and glanced back. Kisumi’s cheeks were puffed up with water as well, and as he swallowed, Asahi watched a few drops of sweat slide down his neck from his hairline. He raked his pink hair back again and the redhead looked away.

Kisumi breathed out another exaggerated sigh. “Well, Asahi, I thought for sure today would be the day.”

“You’re a smug fuck.”

“Mmm, you’re not as crude today,” Kisumi said with pouting lips, as though disappointed. He propped his hands on his hips. “Something must be wrong, huh? You’re off your game. No wonder I kept winning. I knew something wasn’t right. I kept telling myself, Kisumi, Asahi is too great at everything to keep losing in basketball.”

“Go eat shit, brown-noser,” Asahi said, flicking the back of Kisumi’s head as he passed to get to his stuff.

Kisumi chuckled through his teeth, rubbing at the back of his head. “Oh!” he exclaimed suddenly, brightening like a flood light in a stadium. “I know what you need.” He skipped over and threw an arm around Asahi’s shoulders. “Let’s have a race!”

“Are you for real?” Asahi complained, wiping his face with a towel now. “We’ve been running back and forth on this court for almost an hour already.”

Kisumi giggle, shaking his shoulders. “Asahi, you’re so funny! I meant, let’s go for a swim.”

Asahi pursed his lips against a smile, determined not to look too eager about the prospect. “You want to race _me_ in the pool?” he said, casting a side-eye with his brow raised.

“Yes! Surely you’ll win a friendly competition in your own element.”

Asahi scoffed and pushed Kisumi’s head away. “I don’t need your pity points. If I’m going to race, I want a challenge. You don’t even know how to swim seriously.”

Kisumi leaned an elbow on his shoulder this time, and Asahi pretended not to have an opinion about it. “You can teach me then. You’re going to be a swim coach, aren’t you? And you said you wanted field experience already.”

The grin spread too easily. Asahi was already kicking up his chin with confidence. “I suppose you’re right about that. It would be _quite_ the challenge teaching someone like you to swim.”

“Oh, I’m sure!”

“If I can teach you, I can probably teach anybody.”

“Without a doubt!”

“Like my own personal guinea pig.”

“Can guinea pigs swim?”

“I thought you were a fan of idioms,” he said, flicking Kisumi in the forehead this time.

He snickered and rubbed the space between his eyebrows with squinting eyes. “You have monkey fingers, Asahi.”

“Enough about the monkeys!” Asahi shouted much too loudly.

Kisumi’s eyes were shimmering with joy. He clasped his hands innocently behind his back. “But I’ve been waiting all day.”

Asahi scoffed, turning away to swipe up his bag and toss it over his shoulder. “Get your stuff. I need to cool off.”

Kisumi hurriedly plucked up his things and jogged after Asahi to catch up, beaming all the while.

He wasn’t a heavy sweater the way Asahi was, but the glossy sheen of his skin and the way his t-shirt stuck to his back was something — and not a bad something either. It was annoying really. No one said Kisumi should have the right to be one of the attractive sweaters. Or, well … He didn’t look sloppy, was the point — not the way Asahi felt, pinching and pulling at his gym clothes to get them to stop sticking to his skin. Especially his shirt. He joined Kisumi for basketball often, but wearing shirts while he was active was still an odd thing to him. He was glad they were going for a swim. That was his favorite way to finish a workout.

Except that Kisumi casually giggled about not having a swimsuit with him, then proceeded to talk in a circle, wondering if he should just swim in his basketball shorts, or maybe just his underwear would suffice, and once he got to thinking out loud about skinny dipping, Asahi explosively shouted that he could just borrow one of his suits, to which Kisumi quite expectedly laughed.


	2. Chapter 2

Kisumi had had no swimming abilities whatsoever when they first met. He’d kept that bit of information somehow to himself for a long while. But then Makoto had invited him to the team pool party at the end of the season, and he had stood with his toes at the edge of the pool, scratching at the back of his head with a cheesing smile and shrugging shoulders.

He didn’t go unlearned for long. Showing up to a pool party amidst a group of swimmers changes things, if you would believe. He could at least move forward by the time they were done for the day. And Asahi had been sure to make the absolute most fun of him as much as he possibly could for a month. And all Kisumi had done was smile with him. That was all Kisumi had ever done — and continued to do.

Oh how much worse than nails on a chalkboard it had been, Kisumi’s smile. It never left, like it was stuck on with gorilla glue or something. Hence one of the deep-rooted reasons Asahi couldn’t stand to be around him at first. It seemed the more Asahi got riled up, the more Kisumi was entertained. The louder Asahi shouted, the more Kisumi laughed. The harder Asahi waved his arms and stamped his feet with a beet-red face, the more Kisumi’s eyes glittered. Outside of being annoyed, Asahi didn’t think about the significance of Kisumi’s smile until he had officially moved away.

For a good year, they hadn’t said much to one another, and he’d found himself, every now and then, staring out the window with his cheek in his hand, thinking about that smile. Out of curiosity of course. And only because he noticed that no one at his new school smiled like that. And when he thought about it, he realized … no one at his _old_ school had smiled like that either.

He had been friends with Haruka and Ikuya — the two most unsmiley people on the face of the planet probably. There was Makoto, and Makoto did have a pleasant smile. But Makoto’s smile was very sunshiny and genuine, wholesome, like someone who really just wanted to please everybody. Kisumi’s smile was different. He didn’t alter anything about himself to cater to others. He just existed. His smile was tinged with wit and a small twinkle of harmless devilry. Neither of which he was sorry for. He liked to make himself laugh. He wasn’t mean, but he also wasn’t afraid to poke, purely for his own amusement. And something about that was … appealing enough to begin to miss after a while.

* * *

“Ahaha. These are quite form-fitting, aren’t they?”

Asahi had just slipped his goggles around his neck when he glanced over to find Kisumi awkwardly adjusting the knee-length jammers like he was a toddler that had to pee. Asahi’s eyes hovered on the curves of his thighs just briefly, then looked away as nonchalantly as his expression would allow.

“They’re streamlined to reduce drag. Makes you swim faster.”

He’d forgotten how casual of a swimmer Kisumi truly was. He swam with Asahi and the others every now and then, but he had no need for competition swimwear, and this was the first time he’d ever borrowed a pair of Asahi’s jammers. They were _definitely_ form-fitting. And Asahi had honestly never thought about that before now. But that was just because Kisumi was pointing it out. It certainly had nothing to do with that fact that he could see the outline of Kisumi’s … well … Also, he wasn’t helping anything by adjusting said junk every five seconds with his tongue poking out of the side of his mouth.

After way too long of this, Asahi finally had to drop a sigh of annoyance. “Are they _that_ tight?”

“No, no,” Kisumi said, waving a dismissive hand. He wiggled his knees, swished his hips, and then finally stilled with a satisfied smile, which he turned on Asahi with no shame. “Just didn’t know what to do with the boys for a second there. I figured it out.”

“Gods, you’re embarrassing,” Asahi scoffed, turning away. “Don’t walk out of here with your shirt on,” he added over his shoulder.

He didn’t wait to leave the locker room. Kisumi would find the way. He was like a magnet to Asahi anyway. The redhead had tried — several, several times — to elude his pink-haired friend in the past, only to discover it would never work. Kisumi had a way of sniffing him out like a hound dog following a trail. It hardly took him a second to shed his t-shirt and grab a towel anyway. He was skipping up behind Asahi’s shoulder in no time.

“I don’t have any goggles.”

Asahi pinched his lips with a hum, then tugged his own goggles back off of his neck and handed them over his shoulder. “Just use mine. I don’t need them anyway.”

“Wow,” Kisumi cooed, pulling the goggles over his head to hang around his own neck. “You’re the best coach ever, Asahi.”

Asahi smirked, propping his fists on his hips. “Yes, I know. And I will need you to call me Coach Shiina from now on.”

“That’s a little formal,” Kisumi said under his breath.

The redhead scoffed. “Coach Asahi then.”

“Mmmm … How about only in the pool room?”

Asahi huffed out a sigh, stopping behind the line of starting blocks. “Fine.” He turned, and his expression dropped the moment his eyes landed on Kisumi’s bare torso. He caught his eyes before they could go too wide though, and fixed his face quickly, allowing his brow to dip. “Have you been taking extra protein?”

Kisumi blinked, head tilting to the side. “No. Why?” He lifted his arms and looked down at his body. “Am I beefing up?” With this he lifted a smile and it was all Asahi had to pray away the heat that was rising to his cheeks. He squinted, trying not to stare for too long, but it was really difficult.

He tried to calculate it in his head and supposed it had been about two or three months since Kisumi had last agreed to a swim. He was usually just busy with his other clubs. His business community club had just put on a big event a week ago and was currently slow on activities. And the video production club, last Asahi heard, was on creative hiatus — whatever that was supposed to mean, other than that Kisumi was less busy at the moment and so actually had time to do other things. It had been a while since Asahi had last seen him bare-chested, and his body was definitely different. Not beefy, no — he didn’t think that kind of body would fit Kisumi — but definitely fuller, in a toned respect. Despite being an athlete, Kisumi was someone Asahi might have described as thin before, but that was not the case at this time. Now, his muscles had gained some definitive shape and were rounding out more especially around his arms. Also, his belly used to be explicitly flat, and now there were … actual abs to count? Four, most assuredly, maybe a shy six.

“Asahiiii? Mmm, ah … _Coach_ Asahi!”

Asahi blinked and raised his gaze. Kisumi tilted his head the other way. He perked up a smile and coolly held his hands behind his back.

“Hm, I must be quite attractive or something.”

Asahi trapped a cough in his chest, but it escaped his nose as a painful sounding grunt instead. “Th-That’s not it!” he grouched, turning his burning face away quickly. “What have you been doing differently?” he asked, at an attempt to sound unaffected as he shuffled closer to the pool edge and peeked down into the shimmering water. This was the first moment he realized there was no one else in the room with them, and he was glad.

“Hmm,” Kisumi hummed, eyeing the ceiling thoughtfully as he tapped his chin. “Must be kendo club.”

“ _Kendo_ club?” Asahi repeated, snapping his gaze back.

“Mmhm.” Kisumi jerked his head with a nod. “We meet in the mornings, at least twice a week. It is a bit taxing, actually. This is the first week I haven’t been feeling sore.”

“You never told me about kendo club. When did you start this?”

“About a month and a half ago.”

Asahi pressed his tongue against the roof of his mouth to stifle any noises. If a month and a half was going to yield this kind of result, he was afraid what he’d find under Kisumi’s shirt after spring semester ended.

He pursed his lips and turned away again, exhaling carefully.

“Alright, well,” he started, propping his hands on his hips again. “Are we swimming or what? Let’s warm up.”

They spent about ten minutes stretching, per Asahi’s insistence, despite Kisumi whining about how boring it was. Asahi scolded him for being a reckless athlete with no respect for or awareness of his own body, all while averting his gaze any and everywhere that was not Kisumi. Then, out of an odd need to just say _something_ , he began spewing out an unhealthy dose of kinesiology facts that he had just happened to collect during his last class, in a nearly subconscious, rapid-fire stream until Kisumi complained that he came here to swim not stand by the pool with his head between his knees, and also, he didn’t care that there were approximately 1,000 myofibrils in the average muscle fiber, and 200 muscle fibers in the average fascicle.

They swam a few warmup laps after that. And then Kisumi insisted that he was ready to learn something serious, to which Asahi finally burst with laughter and commented that Kisumi wasn’t the kind of human being to take anything serious. This wasn’t wholly true of course, but, he felt better anyhow.

“Alright, pupil,” he said, hauling himself out of the pool. He jabbed a finger at one of the starting blocks, peering down at Kisumi’s wet hair. Somehow it seemed to get charmingly wild when soaked with chlorine. “On the block! Hop to it.”

Kisumi’s smile was mild as he pulled himself with newbie effort out of the water and stepped up onto the starting block. “Are you going to be a drill sergeant kind of coach?”

“You bet your ass I will,” Asahi said, forcing Kisumi to bend over by shoving on the top of his back.

Kisumi giggled. “What about my ass?”

“Shut up. You’re on my time now. We’re going to learn you something about diving, and we’re not going to leave this pool until you can’t uncurl your fingers anymore. Bend your knees!”

Asahi popped the back of Kisumi’s thigh, forcing a yelp from his throat. It was followed by a snicker.

“I didn’t tell you you could laugh in my pool,” Asahi said seriously, hands behind his back now as he straightened his shoulders and stared down his nose on Kisumi’s left.

Kisumi turned his head, smile stretching. “I thought it was the recreation pool.”

“Insubordination! Drop and give me ten!”

Kisumi dropped his jaw. “Are you seri —”

“Now!”

He hoped backward off the starting block and dropped to his hands and knees.

“Don’t give me that girly shit,” Asahi barked, kicking his shin. “On your toes! You have the muscle mass in your arms now. Show me what you got, punk!”

Kisumi could just barely lower his body, he was shaking so intensely with giggles. Meanwhile, Asahi watched the flex of the muscles in his back as he slowly pushed up — one — lowered down, pushed up — two — and down … A shiver slipped down Asahi’s spine and he craned his neck against it, looking away in favor of strolling in intimidating circles around Kisumi’s push-ups.

“Five. Six. Seven. Nah, nope! That doesn’t count. Do it again! Eight … Nine. _Nine_. Ten.”

Kisumi gasped dramatically and dropped his head back as he rested back on his heels. Asahi clapped his hands aggressively.

“On the block, I said! Let’s goooo!”

Kisumi groaned, but it was with a smile, and he stepped back up on the block. “You’re quite the piece of work, Coach,” he said, shaking out his arms.

“Coach _Asahi_.”

“ _Coach Asahi_ ,” Kisumi drawled, dragging out all of the syllables.

“Don’t mock me, boy.”

“Ooh.” Kisumi shivered and turned another smile on him. “I like that one.”

Asahi grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and shoved him back into a bend, ignoring his burst of giggles. “What’s your dominant hand, boy?”

“My right hand, sir!”

“Right foot forward, left foot back. Grab the edge of the block with both hands and your toes. Here and here, on the outsides, don’t crowd your space.”

Refusing to allow himself to think about it, or break character, he used his hands to jerkily adjust Kisumi’s form, widening the spread of his grip, nudging his heel forward with his own foot, slapping him in the abs to force him to raise his hips, and actually manually aligning those hips with both hands — quickly, of course.

“Keep your legs in line with your hips. Do not lean to the side. Your destination is forward. Hold that position. You feel what that feels like?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, Coach Asahi!”

“Good. Memorize that please, because if you are not properly on your mark the next time I call you up here, you will be doing more push-ups. Memorize it. Memorize it. Memorize it … You got it memorized?”

Kisumi nodded stiffly with a hazardous grin. “I’ve got it memorized.”

“Okay, now. When you are called to get set, you are going to brace your muscles and lean your weight back.”

He placed a palm on Kisumi’s lower back, pressing down, this time gently, encouraging his body to coil. He used his other hand to pat the back of Kisumi’s thigh again, this time also gently.

“Get your knees ready, you’re aiming for the other side of the pool.”

Kisumi stiffened very briefly, as though with hesitation, and then lowered his knees even more. Asahi peeked around to his face. Kisumi’s smile was distant and strained, as though he was trying to contain it without much success, like he was stuffing down a secret into a pocket that was too small.

“What’s that face for?” Asahi snapped.

Kisumi’s lips twitched and he snickered through his nose, head shaking. He kept his goggled eyes facing forward and did not respond.

Asahi pinched his face into a frown. “Insubordination.”

“No, no, no! No!” Kisumi rocked back, setting his position just like he’d been watching his friends do for years now. Asahi shook his head to himself.

“When you jump, push straight with your back foot, otherwise you will go sidewa- … What is that face, boy?!”

Kisumi was giggling uncontrollably now, legs trembling beneath him. Asahi could feel the muscles straining where he still had his hand lightly supporting Kisumi’s thigh. He frowned deeper, then pinched the back of his leg. Kisumi squeaked another yelp, slapped a hand over his mouth, and lowered his hips away as though trying to protect his legs from more prodding. He laughed into his palm, eyes glittering with tears.

Asahi forced his face to stay straight. “Bro, what the fuck.”

Kisumi was gone now, gasping with little hope of catching a breath. “I’m sorry. Hahaha! You w-were doing so well!”

“Are you _ticklish_?”

Kisumi very quickly and very vehemently shook his head, raising a defensive hand and leaning away. “No, no! Not at all!”

Asahi’s lips twitched. The joyous squint of Kisumi’s tear-filled eyes was something of a sight to look at, specifically over his pink-tinged cheeks. A flush of color had even begun to spread down his back. Asahi dropped his shoulders back as though disinterested.

“Okay, whatever. Come on. Time’s wasting. Get up.”

Kisumi gathered himself together as quickly as he could and, eyeing Asahi as though doubtful about his intentions, he positioned himself back to set, muscles rippling with tension as they coiled.

“When I say go …”

Kisumi waited, pulling in a ready breath, prepared to spring. Asahi bit at the inside of his lip, allowing his eyes to roam his friend’s body — strictly for the purposes of checking his form, of course. Kisumi knew what he was doing, Asahi wasn’t oblivious to that. The basketball player had never bothered to get up on a starting block before this moment, but he’d been attending most of Asahi’s swim meets for years. He watched, and he knew from observation how to properly pull back on that starting block just before the kick-off. It was too easy.

“Go!” Asahi shouted, pinching the back of Kisumi’s leg again in the exact same moment.

Kisumi’s form crumbled like a ball of sand mid-air, and he landed in the water with a yelping belly-flop. Asahi’s face split into a wide grin, already snickering.

“Asahiii!” Kisumi whined the moment his pink hair popped out of the water.

The redhead full out belly laughed now. “You looked like a mullet fish!”

“I wanted to dive for real,” Kisumi moaned, brushing his hair out of his face.

Asahi dove into the water and popped up directly in front of his friend, who giggled when his tossed his hair and sprayed him with water.

“You’ll never be a real diver flopping in like that,” he said.

“I was sabotaged, Coach!”

Asahi grinned mischievously. “Excuses!” He reached down and tickled the back of Kisumi’s leg, earning himself a squeal and a splash in the face as the other turned away and pushed a spray of water at him.

“Stop!”

Asahi pounced at him before he could swim away and pulled him against his chest in a headlock, keeping one hand free to search his body with wiggling fingers. Kisumi writhed with breathless laughter, pleading in between giggles, still trying to use the water to defend himself.

“A-Asahiii, stop! Hahaha, _wahh_!” He squealed loudly, kicking his feet when Asahi’s fingers found his legs again.

The redhead snickered. “You scream like a girl — oof!” He doubled over, arms falling away as Kisumi’s heel nut-checked him and flipped his stomach.

Kisumi gasped, whirling around with his arms reaching out. “Oh my god, I’m sorry! Are you okay?”

Asahi snatched his wrist and yanked him forward. Kisumi yelped as he swept him up in half a second and then tossed him several feet across the pool with a satisfying splash. There was a moment of stillness after that, during which Asahi’s stomach settled and Kisumi took his time breaking the surface again. When he did, they stared across the pool for a weightless moment, catching their breath, and then simultaneously smiled and snickered with laughter.

“Ah, Asahi,” Kisumi sighed with mirth, wiping tears from the corners of his eyes. “You’re really strong.”

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Asahi smirked, arching his back with pride.

“This is a horrible swimming lesson. I haven’t learned a thing.”

Asahi bellowed a laugh. “I have! You are so done for.”

Kisumi’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink and he backed away further, dropping his shoulders into the water as though to protect himself. He made a face and whined. “Don’t just go tickling me anytime you feel like it.”

“You shouldn’t have given yourself away.”

“Asahi,” the other pouted, sticking out his lip. “Now I can’t trust you anymore.”

Asahi spread a cheesing grin. “I’m surprised you ever did to begin with.”

Kisumi groaned a sigh and then slowly perked up his own smile again. “Asahi is my best friend for a reason. Of course I would trust you.”

Asahi’s smile dropped, stomach flipping again, except not with pain. Kisumi tilted his head innocently to the side, smile warm, eyes shining, knowing full well how much such a simple statement had just affected Asahi’s pride. The redhead wrinkled his nose and turned away, before Kisumi could get a good look at him blushing. He pulled himself out of the pool.

“Back on the block, shithead,” he said, voice much more subdued than before. “If we’re gonna make you into a swimmer, we’ve got a lot of work to do.”

Kisumi’s smile stretched with affection. He waded back to the edge of the pool and took the hand Asahi offered him.

* * *

He was fifteen the next time he saw Kisumi, after moving away. By then, his family had settled in Kyoto for his dad’s work — “temporarily,” of course, as it always was — and he’d gone downtown to get himself fitted for his first high school uniform. He’d been standing in socked feet, staring solemnly into a mirror, letting the tailor poke at his ankles as she pinned the hems of his pants. He couldn’t remember what he’d been thinking in that moment, just that it had been a terribly gloomy day until he looked up and saw the reflection of a familiar mop of pink hair entering the shop. He’d whipped around so fast that the tailor woman had accidentally stabbed him in the foot, and then there was a chaotic moment of him stuffing a howl behind his lips as he hopped on one foot and the woman apologized over and over again and frantically called for someone to bring her a first aid kit, and all the commotion had drawn Kisumi’s attention.

Then the moment got even more confused, because Asahi’s foot was bleeding and screaming with pain, but he was suddenly so burstingly happy he didn’t know what to pay the most attention to. And Kisumi was concerned, but also very excited to see Asahi, and they were trying to talk to each other over three different women’s heads as they tended to Asahi’s foot and wiped his blood off of the floor and kept trying to calm him down and apologize, but also scold him, because his restless wiggling was getting blood on the hem of his pants as well.

The bustling confusion had lasted for about ten minutes, and then Asahi and Kisumi were sitting side by side in a couple of chairs against the wall, while they waited for Asahi’s sister to come back from shopping. He remembered the dull pulse of pain throbbing through his foot, and the stain of red on his sock, but the quality of his injury had been disproportionate to the mess and commotion it had made. Kisumi had kept asking if he was going to be okay, and Asahi remembered how tight his jaw had been from all the smiling he was doing as he nodded vigorously and assured him he’d be fine, but, more importantly, why was he in Kyoto?

Turned out the uniform shop in Iwatobi had run out of the ties Kisumi needed. There was a school in Kyoto that required the exact same tie for their first years, and his mother had just so happened to agree to meeting a friend in the city that weekend, so he had tagged along. They both remarked on the serendipity of it all, and then proceeded to fill each other in on what had been going on in their lives since they’d last seen each other.

Kisumi had talked about how quickly his baby brother was growing up. Mentioned, of course, that he would be joining the basketball club in high school, and thought out loud about all the other clubs he was interested in joining. He’d explained he would be at a different high school than everyone else they’d gone to middle school with, so he was both anxious and excited to meet new people. Asahi had asked about Haru, and Ikuya, and Makoto, and Kisumi had explained that he didn’t hear much from them anymore. The other two had apparently quit the swim club not too long after Haru dropped out and Asahi had moved away, and the redhead had tried not to let his heart sink with this information. But Kisumi had been quick to pick up on that and immediately assured him that he wasn’t at fault and that sometimes relationships just worked like seasons. They came, they went, some were short, some were long, and sometimes they found ways to come back around, so he shouldn’t feel sad about it.

And he had realized then that he didn’t want Kisumi to be a season in his life. It had taken him years to fully appreciate what his violet-eyed friend was to him, and in that exact moment, he remembered lamenting all the time he’d let slip away between them, where they could have kept in touch. They had both been lonely. Asahi’s last year of middle school had been a nightmare, because he’d been unable to find friends that would stick, as everyone had already been well acquainted with one another by the time he got there. And Kisumi had been left alone after all of his friends had dispersed, mostly for reasons unknown to him, and he had done his best to keep a positive attitude about the ever-shifting changes of adolescent life.

If nothing else going forward, they’d been given a chance moment to get it right the second time around. So Asahi had insisted that they exchange numbers and call each other often. He had promised that he would do his best to let Kisumi know whenever he was in Iwatobi visiting his grandmother, and Kisumi had promised to hitch as many rides to Kyoto whenever he could. And after that moment, even when they had reluctantly parted ways, no matter the turbulence they managed to hit throughout the following years, they had always had each other to lean on. Not always in person. In fact, very seldom in person. But they had stuck to their resolve and never lost contact with one another again.

* * *

“You always impress me, Asahi,” Kisumi said as they strolled through campus in search of dinner.

Asahi beamed. “Yes, well, I am known to be quite impressive.”

“Oh yes, I’m sure. You must be quite popular among your teammates.”

“They love me,” Asahi scoffed, sticking proud hands on his hips. “I’ll probably be captain once Seijuro graduates.”

“Wow,” Kisumi said with appropriate enthusiasm, clapping his hands before sneakily sliding an arm through Asahi’s. “One step closer to your dream. Do you think you would coach a college team one day? Or do you want to work with professionals?”

“Hmm …” Asahi thought, pinching his chin with his opposite hand. “Why deny anyone the opportunity to experience my greatness, right?”

“Right.”

“I’ll do both.”

“Yes.”

“In fact, I’ll coach high school too.”

“Coach everybody!”

“Done,” Asahi said with a victorious smirk, pumping his fist. “I’m ready.”

Kisumi nodded with a hum, drawing closer as he curled his arm around Asahi’s more definitively and put a light grip on his bicep. “All you have to do is finish school.”

Asahi dropped his head back with a whine. “Ahh, school. If it weren’t for competitions, college would be a total drag.”

Kisumi poked out a pouting lip. “What do you mean? You don’t like playing basketball with me?”

Asahi wrinkled his nose at him. “I didn’t say that. I would do that with you anyway. That has nothing to do with college.”

“But we wouldn’t get to hang out so much if we weren’t going to the same school.”

The redhead pinched his lips to the side. “Mmmm …”

“And what about Haru and Makoto? Don’t you like hanging out with them?”

“Yes, but I would do that anyway.”

“What about Ikuya?”

“Yes, Ikuya too.”

“What about Hiyori?”

Asahi made a face and grunted under his breath, stuffing his hands in his pockets, which by default drew Kisumi closer to his side. “Maybe not Hiyori,” he mumbled. “That guy still pisses me off sometimes. He’s got issues.”

Kisumi giggled. “What about your sister’s café? Would you still go there if you weren’t at university?”

“She started running the café before we even started school here. Yes. I hardly think that counts.”

“Would you still teach me how to swim like you if we weren’t in college?”

“Of course.”

“But you wouldn’t ever get to walk me to my car.”

“Yes I would,” Asahi argued.

“How do you know?” Kisumi challenged, raising an eyebrow, corner of his lips smirking. “If you weren’t in school right now, would you be living in Tokyo?”

The redhead sighed with an exaggerated groan, and Kisumi giggled. “Alright, I get it.”

“Maybe college is more than just classes?” he suggested, nudging Asahi with his shoulder.

“I said, I get it,” Asahi replied, now suddenly hyper aware of Kisumi’s arm wrapped around his.

It wasn’t abnormal of him. He was a clingy person by nature, and Asahi — specifically over the past year, since they had started at Hidaka University — had gotten used to that. The two of them could often be found traversing the campus grounds with their arms linked, but the way Kisumi’s fingers were curled around his bicep now, with the casual lean of his weight against Asahi’s shoulder, it reminded the redhead of all the girlfriends he’d ever seen walking arm in arm with their boyfriends around the city.

He stiffened, the tops of his cheeks burning as he turned his gaze forward and away from Kisumi’s smiling face. His arm tensed and, as they walked, he debated whether or not he should pull himself free and walk next to Kisumi like a normal person — like his friend. Except that, for one, he knew Kisumi would pout and act offended by it, and two, he didn’t exactly mind, other than maybe being a bit concerned about the other sets of eyes walking around campus in all other directions.

His eyes darted about, but no one was paying attention to them. It was dark out anyway. The campus lights provided plenty of visibility, but there were enough shadows to make analyzing other passersby uninteresting. No one cared.

He exhaled and let his shoulders drop, deciding to let Kisumi be. He wasn’t all that uncomfortable with it anyway. He had always been a person who enjoyed company, and … Kisumi was warm. It was a chilly spring night, and Tokyo could be a drafty city sometimes.

“Can you teach me more swimming tomorrow?”

Asahi glanced over. “I thought you have practice tomorrow.”

Kisumi nodded. “I do. Tomorrow’s Friday though. Fridays we have morning practice, remember?”

“What about kendo?”

“That’s on Tuesdays and Thursdays.”

“You don’t have a game tomorrow?”

“No, next week.”

“I thought next week was that thing for stage club.”

“No, I quit that.”

“You did?!”

“Yeah, a month ago. It was interfering with basketball. I told you about it during lunch that day we went for donburi.”

“We always go for donburi. I don’t know what day you’re talking about. So no stage club?”

“No.”

“And video production is still on hiatus?”

“Yes, but we’re going to meet next Wednesday to talk about putting together a film festival.”

“What about business community?”

“That’s on Mondays.”

Asahi groaned and shook his throbbing head. “Jesus, Kisumi. How do you keep up with this shit?”

Kisumi giggled. “I have a calendar. You know, like a responsible person. Want me to make you one?”

“You might as well,” Asahi huffed, shifting his shoulders. “I’ll never be able to memorize your schedule.”

“Do you need to memorize my schedule?” Kisumi asked, his tone harmless but suggestive, and it made Asahi’s face burn again.

“No,” he scoffed quickly. “I just don’t want to walk into the business community room looking for you, only to realize it’s Thursday and you’re across campus. I’ve only done that like five times now.”

Kisumi’s laugh was like a bubble of chimes. “I’m so honored that Asahi bothers to look for me,” he cooed.

“Shut up,” Asahi said jostling him with his arm. “It’s only because you’re always late if I ask you to meet me somewhere. Might as well come find you first.”

“Ah, you’re so smart, Asa-chan.”

“Ha, thank- … _Asa-chan_?”

“Mmhm.” Kisumi perked up, smile cutting through the shadows of the night. “Isn’t it cute?”

“I don’t want to be _cute_ ,” Asahi argued, skin tingling with the threat of yet another blush.

Kisumi pursed his lips, blinking innocently. “Why not?”

“Because men aren’t supposed to be cute.”

Kisumi gasped as though offended. “What? You don’t think I’m cute?” he whined. His shoulders sagged and he dropped his gaze to the ground.

Asahi sputtered a cough. Somewhere in the back of his mind — like in that subconscious place where he really really knew Kisumi — he was aware that his friend was just fishing with a fly net, because he thoroughly enjoyed catching Asahi with his own words. Kisumi expected nothing back, he just liked getting the redhead flustered. But Asahi wriggled uncomfortably at the pouting look on Kisumi’s face, and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Of course I think you’re cute!”

Kisumi blinked, dropping his act immediately, and looked up with surprise. Asahi floundered, caught between trying to take it back and trying to explain it away, and it all just came out in a flustered rush of words that were spoken much too loudly and much too rapidly to be at all understood, even by himself. And just when he thought it might be better to simply evaporate on the spot, Kisumi burst out laughing.

Asahi choked on a bit of astonishment as he watched, face burning, and tried not to feel that laugh as it touched his core with a pleasant vibration. He shivered and tried to look away, but Kisumi’s eyes were gleaming, nose slightly wrinkled on the bridge the way it did when he was undone by joy. That was Kisumi’s magic, the way he ensnared anyone who came too close. That expression was priceless, and Asahi was captured.

“Asahi, you’re so funny,” he giggled, once he finally got himself somewhat under control.

Asahi held his breath until his ears began to ring and then let it fall out sloppily with a heavy sigh, as though in surrender.

Kisumi continued to giggle.


	3. Chapter 3

It was much easier to laugh at Kisumi’s texts. After having made the pact to talk to each other regularly, Asahi had quickly realized that Kisumi was really quite funny. He was a fan of emojis and gifs, which wasn’t a surprise, but the friskiness in his texts was much easier to read than when talking to his smiling face in real life. And yet, it was very nearly no different. He could hear the inflections of Kisumi’s twinkling tone even if his voice wasn’t in his ear. And he could see that face in his mind’s eye, could see the curves of his smiling cheeks and the shiny delight in his purple eyes.

It was the same when they spoke over phone calls as well. Sometimes he would lay back with his arm behind his head and close his eyes, just listening to Kisumi giggle about school, and Hayato, and basketball, and the fawning, short-lived crushes he developed quite frequently.

That last bit had been somewhat of a struggle for Asahi to get used to at first — for reasons he’d never been able to pin down. Because like, why did he need to know those things in the first place? But he had quickly realized it was nothing to get miffed over, as Kisumi was just the kind of person who liked to ogle and pine over people without actually initiating anything. Sometimes he would coo about several boys at a time, and Asahi had learned how to divert the burning annoyance in his stomach into playful teasing, commenting on how he very firmly believed Kisumi would live in a mansion one day with fifteen partners that he would swap out based on his mood and the day of the week.

But Kisumi also loved to coo over Asahi, and that he was much more comfortable with.

It was when they had formed the habit of calling each other nearly every day, while doing their homework, that they had fallen into their little game of praises and insults. Asahi, by that point, was well aware of how much joy Kisumi gleaned from Asahi’s snappy name-calling, and Kisumi knew exactly what to say to make Asahi preen like a dumb dog. Sometimes they’d volley jibes at each other so passionately that Asahi would end up steaming from his ears and Kisumi would fall from his desk chair laughing — and Asahi knew this, because he could hear the clattering thump of heavy objects toppling over in the background, and then he’d start barking with his own laughter about how shameless Kisumi was.

Most, if not all, of their phones calls ended with laughter. But there were the occasional times that Kisumi’s was the first number Asahi dialed when he was pissed at his parents, or worried about failing an exam, stressed about starting up a swim team by himself, or overtaken by something he’d chosen to refer to as “homesickness,” which was really just him missing the physical company of having Kisumi with him. And his friend never said anything about it explicitly, but Asahi was sure Kisumi was well aware what he meant by that.

Asahi was also the person that Kisumi called when he was upset. And though it happened less frequently, Kisumi’s reasons for being upset were typically much more grievous than Asahi’s frequent complaints about the nuances of being a teenager. Like when his grandfather passed away, for instance, or the time that Hayato had nearly drowned. And there once was a time when Kisumi had finally gotten the chance to go on an actual date with a guy he’d been talking about for weeks, only to have the rug snatched from underneath him, because it turned out the guy had just been stringing him along for the sole purpose of mocking his sexuality.

That one had nearly gotten Asahi on the next train to Iwatobi, but Kisumi had refused to share information about where this guy lived, and had instead airily thanked Asahi through his tears for being so passionate.

“That guy is a dumb fuck,” had been the exact words that had finally managed to get a quiet laugh out of Kisumi, which had in turn allowed Asahi to sit back down and uncurl his fists.

He had fallen asleep with his phone on his pillow next to him that night, Kisumi’s steady breathing soft in his ear. It was the first time they had simply sat with each other in silence until everything was better. The second time had been when Asahi’s parents finally got an official divorce five months before he graduated high school.

* * *

_-Which one would best accentuate my beefy new muscles? XD_

Asahi snickered, swiping between two pictures of equally ridiculous-looking swimsuits. He’d woken to the text from Kisumi well before his alarm, and was still cozied up underneath his comforter, enjoying a lazy hour in bed before having to get ready for swim practice before class. His dorm was cast in pale blue morning shadows, and the neighbor to his right was already blasting their ritual yoga/meditation tutorial. Sometimes, he liked to amuse himself by silently joining them without their knowledge. It was the quickest way to get over his annoyance at being woken by it nearly every morning. Today though, he was comfortable with curling into a ball and pressing a cheek into his pillow with his phone inches from his nose.

_-1st off ... dont kid urself u still hav the twiggy body of a 13year old. 2nd id def go for that offensively purpl mankini. itll rly bring out ur eyes which im sure is the ONLY thing ppl will be looking at :P_

Kisumi’s response was a gif of a pudgy shirtless guy in a cowboy hat, winking at the camera with a finger to his lips. Asahi giggled and turned over, then spent the next thirty minutes scrolling through Amazon for practical swimsuits that would _actually_ look good on Kisumi. Not that he didn’t entertain the idea of Kisumi in a stringy mankini for half a second. But that was only because Kisumi had made the joke first.

He sent his suggestions as a string of links and then finally rolled out of bed and dressed himself for the day, fussing over his hair for a good fifteen minutes, as was per usual, because it hated him and loved sticking out in every direction.

Once he left his dorm room, he pounded a fist on his neighbor’s door and ran out of sight before they could open it.

Haru was already in the pool by the time he and a couple other teammates arrived for practice. And Asahi smirked to himself because Seijuro would most assuredly yell at him for it. They weren’t supposed to be in the water until the whole team arrived, but Haru never cared enough to follow that rule. So when Seijuro made an appearance five minutes later, the rest of the team snickered off to the side while he scolded the water-obsessed swimmer from the pool edge, fists on his hips with his butt cheeks clenched in his speedo.

Hikaru raised his hand and flippantly asked why the rest of them had to wait to get in, and Seijuro smugly barked that Haru only got passes because he made the rest of the team look like nematodes. To which the present swimmers got appropriately riled up, and Seijuro simply stated that if they were going to complain, then they had better do something about it.

Today was an endurance day, which most of the team moaned and groaned about. It was tedious, but other than being a bit bored, Asahi didn’t particularly mind. He was quite comfortable with endurance drills. When he had started up the swim club in high school, the beginning days — before he’d managed to successfully recruit members — had found him rhythmically kicking back and forth across the pool for 200 to 400 meters at a time. It took his mind off of the loneliness and initial frustration of having very little success getting people to join him. Eventually though, through grit and a pestering determination he’d picked up from being subjected to a certain someone’s relentless prodding about joining the basketball club, he had managed to pull together a small team, and swimming had once again become fun after that.

Haru was the only other person, besides Asahi, that didn’t complain about the specificities of their training regimens. He was just happy to be in the water. Asahi still envied his grace a bit. The redhead had yet to beat the apathetic swimmer in a race, and he only became more impressive with time, which was unfair. Haru was like a good wine in that way. And Asahi couldn’t be mad at him for it, especially when he knew swimming was practically all that Haru breathed for, and Asahi was self-aware enough to acknowledge that he would never be like that. Besides, it gave him steady little goals to reach for, and he never lost his confidence that one day he would indeed beat Nanase in a race, even if it happened to be a fluke. 

“Makoto said you’re teaching Kisumi how to swim,” Haru said suddenly, when Asahi broke the surface to catch his breath after his fifth butterfly lap.

He raised an eyebrow at Haru who was leisurely treading water in the next lane, blue eyes staring blankly across the pool. Nanase was a man of little words normally. Asahi had never minded this, as he loved to talk, and he had always gotten the feeling, even through Haru’s aloofness, that the ebony-haired swimmer understood him in a lot of ways they would never explicitly talk about. But customarily, Haru didn’t initiate conversations, so Asahi was a bit thrown off in this moment. He grinned anyway, albeit with a faint bend to his brow.

“News travels fast?” he said, intentionally turning the statement into a question.

“Kisumi keeps texting him,” Haru said quietly, turning his eyes away as though he wasn’t the biggest fan of this.

Asahi chuckled, just because that expression was ridiculous. “I met him at the recreation center last night and he insisted I teach him some stuff,” he said, coolly propping his hands behind his head. “We’ll be there again tonight, if you wanna come. I can show him how to beat you in a race.”

Haru swung his gaze over, unamused, and gave a small shrug. “Fine,” he said, as though it meant nothing to him, but by now Asahi was slowly re-learning the nuances of Haru’s retorts, and he was well aware that Haru would never pass up an invitation to swim.

“What time?”

“Kisumi gets out of his last class at five. I told him to meet me there at five-thirty. You don’t have Friday classes, do you?”

Haru lazily tossed his head to confirm.

“What about Makoto?”

“He works on Fridays, but he’s usually done by four,” Haru said, flicking at the surface of the water.

“Alright, bring him with you then. We can go by the café after. My sister wants to add new stuff to the menu, but she needs people to tell her if it’s good or not. I told her I’d let you guys know.”

Haru sighed, as though this was a great hassle for him, but he huffed out another, “Fine,” and pushed off the wall to swim away, done with the conversation.

Asahi shook his head with a small grin, proud of himself for having such interesting friends.

Quite the contrast to his personality, it was never a dull moment with Haru. The guy attracted drama like bees to flowers, and Asahi had never understood why that was. For such a stoic human being, he incited a lot of emotions in other people, and it had been quite the ride, side-piecing the production that was just simply trying to _talk_ to Ikuya last year. They’d worked it out for sure, but Asahi still felt for Haru on behalf of some of the things that went down. He was resilient though, Asahi would give him that. And he wouldn’t deny for a second that eighty percent of the reason for that was most likely Makoto’s existence in Haru’s life. It was incredible to him that, after all this time, those two had never once left each other’s side.

He’d been thrown off by the initiation of the conversation, sure, but he wasn’t at all surprised that Haru had felt the need to mention he’d gotten information through the grapevine. In his own way, it was a silent suggestion that Asahi control his friend please, because Haru didn’t like it when Kisumi texted Makoto for random reasons. He would just never complain about it openly.

They were all great friends, truly and honestly. But when Asahi wasn’t around to divide Kisumi’s attention, Haru got uncomfortable. And Asahi only knew this, because he felt the same way. Hence the unspoken understanding that they carried between them.

* * *

Makoto was the kind of irresistible that Kisumi struggled with. He had mentioned it — several times — over the phone, after running into Makoto at the newly refurbished Iwatobi Swim Club Returns that the brunet had been volunteering at. Which had, in turn, made him Hayato’s temporary swim coach.

And Kisumi _gushed_ about him for days.

Asahi didn’t get it initially. He hadn’t seen Makoto since middle school, so memories had been all he had to go off of, besides Kisumi’s more than likely over-exaggerated details. He remembered Makoto being quite pleasant as a person, someone who knew how to be a guiding voice when he needed to be, but also very nervous about the strangest things. Makoto had been taller than the rest of them but had never felt that way, because when he talked to you, metaphorically speaking, he put himself on the same level. He was humble — a trait Asahi had never been able to wrap his brain around — honest, selfless, respectful, and meek. But if nothing else, Asahi had never forgotten how perpetually suctioned to Haru’s side Makoto had been. And that had apparently never changed.

When finally coming face to face with Makoto after over five years of being apart, Asahi finally understood. Though, he couldn’t tell if there was any one thing about Makoto that made him explicitly attractive, or if it was everything at one time. He wasn’t _attracted_ to Makoto — to be clear. Generally speaking, Asahi didn’t have a thing for guys. Or well, he hadn’t much thought about it, he should say. He didn’t exactly swing the same way Kisumi did, was the point, but he understood what Kisumi meant when he said Makoto was “a soul that shouldn’t be allowed to exist in the presence of human beings, because it was unfair.”

Makoto was handsome. Asahi could acknowledge that. But it was the kind of handsome that became painfully difficult to look away from, because Makoto had no awareness of it whatsoever. He simply walked around like he didn’t know, which made him effortlessly approachable. His spring green eyes were kind, his smile inviting, his stature both impressive and enveloping, in a way that made you feel safe walking next to him.

Asahi was normally one to flaunt his own charisma without hesitation or the need for anyone else to add to his own greatness, but Makoto was one of those people that you couldn’t help being secretly proud to be associated with, because he was a head-turner, and people gravitated toward him like he was the sun swallowing lesser stars — just without the knowledge that he was doing so. And, far beyond his physical appearance, Makoto was also one of those people who ripened with charm the more you got to know him.

Just being his friend was a pleasant experience in itself, irregardless of Asahi’s own thoughts and feelings toward Makoto’s attractiveness. He made everything feel warm and secure. Impossible dreams seemed much easier to reach with him around, and he knew exactly what to say to provide any given person with the exact boost of confidence that they needed in order to take the next step forward.

His aspirations in life to teach kids how to swim and to support other athletes had formed a very quick kinship between him and Asahi, as their dreams weren’t all that different. They talked about it often, shared discoveries and ideas, and Asahi was grateful to have someone who understood the woes of his ridiculous study courses. Makoto was a person who _got_ you, no matter the dilemma, the displacement, or the sometimes yawning pit of despair. Makoto understood, and he could get anyone out of any rut just by being the pillowy presence of benevolence that he was.

All that to say, the brunet was _so_ alluring that Asahi sometimes secretly hated him. There was no reason for any one person to be that flawless. Even his weaknesses had their charm points, and Asahi very nearly couldn’t stand it, because he shone so brightly that Asahi could practically feel his own light going dim standing next to him sometimes. It wasn’t Makoto’s fault, by any means. How could it be? But that didn’t change the fact that Kisumi was absolutely enthralled, and Asahi never failed to catch him admiring Makoto at least a few times, whenever the brunet was around. Were Haru not a halting electric fence firmly staked around Makoto’s very being, there’d be a real issue. Kisumi would have thrown himself at Makoto’s feet a long time ago, if Haru hadn’t always been there. For surely, a lot of people would have.

Asahi didn’t know why it was Makoto was so ensnared by Haruka of all people, but he was grateful, because it took him clean off the table, and Makoto was perfectly happy to be taken. There was no room for any arguing to be done about it, and Kisumi knew this already — _had_ known this, even when he was sighing and swooning over how nice it would be to experience Makoto differently, “just for one day.” It had made Asahi feel an unspeakable kind of good to simply state, “Well, you can’t.”

It just never stopped the violet-eyed boy from marveling in a conspicuous silence.

* * *

He ended up running into Kisumi on the way to the rec center, and his pink-haired friend didn’t hesitate to skip up to him merrily and throw an arm around his shoulders as they turned onto an adjoining path and kept on their way.

“How was English?”

“I hate it,” Asahi sighed, stuffing his hands in his pockets. “We have to write a five-page essay in APA format.”

“APA?”

“Some citation style made up by the American Physiological Association, whoever the fuck they are.”

“Huh.” Kisumi swayed leisurely as they walked, forcing Asahi to meander on a less-than-straight path. “Never heard of it before.”

“It’s stupid.”

Kisumi giggled. “What’s the essay about?”

Asahi shrugged. “I haven’t decided yet. Our professor’s supposed to send us the list of topic suggestions. I wasn’t paying attention to it. I stopped listening after she said, ‘Write a five-page essay.’”

Kisumi giggled some more and patted his shoulder. “I’m sure you’ll do just fine on it.”

“I’m not worried about that,” Asahi scoffed. “It’s just —”

“A drag?” Kisumi finished with a teasing smile.

Asahi kicked at him with the side of his foot. “Turd.”

“Hee hee, Asahi. How would I ever smile without you?”

Asahi snorted. “I’m sure you’d find plenty of ways. But I appreciate it all the same. Feel free to continue,” he said, smugly tilting his chin up.

“You are so charming.”

“Thank you.”

“No one ever knew the meaning of aspirational ambition before you.”

“Go on.”

“Asahi is so fearless, a true representation of courage and determination.”

“And?”

“And you’ve got the cutest little monkey face anyone has ever seen,” Kisumi teased, pinching Asahi’s cheek.

“Goddammit — little shit!” He swiped up Kisumi’s neck with his arm, lightly throttling him and earning a burst of twinkling laughter, and a few raised eyebrows. 

“Hahaha! Y-You’re too _easy_!” Kisumi gasped, hands gripping Asahi’s forearm.

“Take it back, you little snot!”

“Okay, okay!”

Asahi released him, pushing his head away with a rough shove. Kisumi was all giggles, red-faced and teary-eyed with mussed up hair. And Asahi found himself even more irritated, because why the fuck did he look good like that? Kisumi swiped his fingers under his eyes, shoulders shaking, smile bright. His eyes glittered with a flavorful depth when he beamed back at Asahi. And he snickered even more.

“You’re a riot,” he said, voice a little hoarse from laughing so hard.

Asahi scoffed and turned away. “Fucktard.”

That didn’t help at all. But the next bubble of laughter was short-lived, as they had arrived at the entrance of the recreation center to find a certain brunet perched on the top step with his knees to his chest.

“Makoto!” Kisumi exclaimed, skipping forward with an enthusiastic wave, tone as bright and shiny as when he’d happened upon Asahi.

Makoto looked up and stood with a smile, waiting patiently for them to reach him, perfectly unbothered by the arm Kisumi threw around his shoulders.

“You didn’t tell me you were coming to my swimming lesson.”

“Is that what’s going on?” Makoto chuckled with a light shrug. “I was wondering. All Haru said was to meet him here.”

“Haru too?” Kisumi said, as though he was opening presents on Christmas day. His head swiveled around in search of the raven-haired swimmer, and Asahi did not miss the perking corner of Kisumi’s lips when Haru did not appear. “Where is he?”

“He had to drop by his professor’s office to resubmit a paper. He said, he’d be around soon.” Makoto pinched his lips to the side with a thoughtful eyebrow. “He also specifically said to wait for him on the steps and not to go inside, but now that you’re here, I suppose I have a way in.”

“He didn’t leave you his guest card? You can use mine!”

Kisumi fished the extra card out of his bag and handed it over to a grateful Makoto. Asahi ignored the sudden pressure on his chest and followed them in, carding his way through the turnstiles just inside the front doors. That radical cacophony of squeaking shoes met them quickly, but Kisumi was already there in front of him, so he didn’t feel the same sweeping excitement as usual. They turned left toward the pool instead.

“How’s work going?” Kisumi asked, hands in his pockets now, but walking just a bit closer to Makoto than Haru would have been comfortable with were he present. “They changed up your schedule, right? You’re there most days of the week now?”

“Mmhm.” Makoto nodded, turning a pleasant smile on Kisumi. “I’m there in the afternoons during the week, and in the evenings on weekends. It’s going great. The kids are so precious. I just want to take them home with me.”

Asahi’s nose twitched. He wanted to look away from the fawning glimmer of pure admiration in Kisumi’s eyes, because he didn’t like where it was focused, but it was also a mesmerizing face to watch. All it could be described as was soft — or maybe utterly infatuated, on second thought. The good news was that Makoto was oblivious to nearly any form of infatuation directed toward him, so he just kept talking.

“We have a new little girl. Her name is Hana. She reminds me of Hayato. Very, _very_ timid, but so sweet. And she got really excited when she jumped into the water by herself for the first time.” Makoto giggled. “She was so proud of herself.”

“As she should be,” Kisumi said. He was keeping his cool, but Asahi could tell one more poke at that spot of sensitivity he carried around when Makoto was near, and he’d melt into a puddle on the floor. “Jumping in is hard. Asahi taught me how to do a proper dive yesterday. He’s a genius. I’d have never figured it out myself.”

Those purple eyes glanced back with a knowing smile, and Asahi felt his face ignite with heat as he realized this was secretly a jab. Kisumi knew he was eyeing him, and was expressing that awareness very skillfully. Asahi puffed up, prepared to snap back and flat out let him know his stupid love-sick face was incredibly obvious, but Makoto spoke up instead.

“So what’s on the lesson plan for today?” he asked, opening the door to the locker room and allowing the other two to walk in ahead of him.

It was quiet, but Asahi still caught Kisumi’s flattered giggle. He forced himself not to roll his eyes, but he didn’t stop himself from shrugging. He propped his hands behind his head. “Thought I’d teach this loser how to do a butterfly stroke … and beat Haru in a race, whenever he decides to show up.”

With this he glanced over his shoulder, silently hoping Haru would materialize and glare Kisumi down in that dead-pan way he did so often. But there was no Haru to be found yet.

“Dammit,” he found himself hissing under his breath.

“Ohh,” Kisumi’s voice exclaimed, drawing his gaze again. They had stopped in front of a row of lockers at this point and the other two were putting down their stuff and toeing off their shoes. “You should teach me all of the strokes!”

Asahi dropped his bag at his feet with a scoff and pulled his shirt over his head. “Kisumi, my friend, I don’t think you have the mental capacity or the attention span to learn every stroke in one day.”

Kisumi poked out his lip in a pout. Makoto giggled from his other side.

“Asahi,” he chided lightly, voice as warm as ever. He had already managed to get a towel around his waist and was unfolding his jammers. “You’re supposed to bolster your students by highlighting their strengths first. Like this …”

He placed a gentle hand on Kisumi’s shoulder and handed the hopeless lollipop a smile. “Kisumi, you have great enthusiasm. Asahi’s just as excited to teach you everything he knows as you are to learn. Let’s just do our best, and take it one step at a time. You’ll pick up all the strokes in no time … See?”

He turned his cozy smile on Asahi the same moment that Kisumi also looked to him with the smuggest of grins, raising his eyebrows to reiterate Makoto’s point. He nodded his head once.

“ _See_ , Asahi?” he said, very subtly gesturing Asahi’s attention to Makoto’s hand still on his shoulder, and Asahi wanted to slap the ditsy egotism off of his face. But Kisumi looked back at Makoto before Asahi could even communicate his irritation with a frown. “Thank you, Makoto,” he cooed. “I bet you’re the envy of all the coaches at work.”

Makoto giggled and finally let his hand slide away from Kisumi’s shoulder to, somehow gracefully, pull on his jammers. “I don’t know about that,” he said modestly, pulling off his towel and draping it over his shoulder. “I just try to put myself in other people’s shoes, think about what it is I’d want to hear in a given situation, if the tables were turned. I think it works, in general.”

“You’re fantastic at it,” Kisumi said, just barely hiding the small bite his gave his bottom lip.

Asahi’s nose wrinkled reflexively and he jabbed Kisumi in the ribs with his knuckles. His friend looked back at him with a blink and immediately snickered, brushing off Makoto’s concern with a wave when he asked if something was wrong.

It took way too long for them to get out of the locker room, and now Asahi was starting to get anxious about Haru’s yawning absence. How long was it supposed take to resubmit a paper? He knew Haru wasn’t nearly as fast on land as he was in the water, but damn. And now that they were in the pool room, Kisumi’s flattering giggles echoed like a taunting song in his ears.

There were a few more people in the pool this time, but not many. The boys wandered all the way to the end, making sure they were out of the way, and claimed the last two lanes. Makoto was quick to casually slip into the water after a light stretch and swim a leisurely backstroke across the pool. Kisumi’s eyes glittered as he watched the brunet, and Asahi’s stomach turned sourly as he watched Kisumi.

“Oi,” he barked, kicking him in back of the leg. “Stretch. I told you about —”

Kisumi gasped suddenly, clearly not listening. “Can we start with backstroke?” he asked, turning his eyes on Asahi, who again, wrinkled his nose.

“I’m not teaching you anything until you stretch.”

Asahi forced him to bend by the scruff of his neck and Kisumi snickered. He cooperated for all of fifteen seconds before Makoto made it back to their end of the pool, and then he popped up again.

“Makoto, your backstroke is so attractive! Can you teach me?”

Asahi was almost too busy being offended by Kisumi’s word choice to react in time. Makoto was already opening his smiling mouth to respond.

“Hey!” Asahi nearly shouted, shoving Kisumi over a step. “What kind of double-dipping student are you? I’m your coach. _I’ll_ teach you backstroke.”

Kisumi tilted his head innocently. “But you swim butterfly. And Makoto’s a coach too.” He smiled and propped his hands on his hips. “You should both get to teach me, don’t you think? He did come all this way to swim with us.”

Asahi couldn’t help but make a face. “He came all this way, because _Haru_ invited him. I’m not dumping half the burden of teaching your sorry ass how to swim on poor Tachibana. Besides, I refuse to share my well-deserved earnings with anyone else, as I did not agree to co-captain you.”

Kisumi pursed his lips. “I don’t pay you.”

“Now, now,” Makoto said kindly, folding his arms on the edge of the pool, hair dripping onto his muscled arms. “Asahi, you shouldn’t discredit Kisumi so much. He’s not a burden. And Kisumi, I don’t want to undercut the perfectly good coach you’ve already recruited.”

Asahi pinched his lips before they could so readily accept the compliment.

“Aww,” Kisumi whined, plopping down on the edge of the starting block. “But I want to learn from both of you. Oh, I know!” he exclaimed, back snapping straight. “You should race. Whoever wins at backstroke is clearly the most qualified and should be the one to teach me how to do it, no?”

He flicked his gaze back and forth between the other two, eyebrows raised in a way only Asahi saw as conniving as it actually was. Kisumi was relishing in all the attention he was getting right now, and Asahi knew better than to feed that beast. Also, he was very well aware he was only subpar at backstroke, and Kisumi knew that too. Makoto didn’t swim competitively anymore, but Asahi knew what he was still capable of. You don’t have a wingspan like that without getting places, especially in the water. It made perfect sense for Makoto to be the one to teach Kisumi how to swim the stroke he specialized in. But Asahi, of course, was well-prepared to be all kinds of stubborn, because, until Haru showed up, someone had to be. And also, he didn’t want anyone else to coach Kisumi.

“Fine,” he said, responding to both of the looks he was being given. “This is pointless,” he added, with a frail attempt at confidence. “But if we have to duke it out to be your coach, then so be it.”

He turned a smug nose away and started pulling on his swim cap.

“I’m really rusty,” Makoto said kindly, even though he was already stretching out his arms, pulling his muscles taut. “I’m sure it won’t be much of a competition. You’ve gotten so much stronger since you joined the university team, Asahi.”

Asahi scoffed a haughty laugh. “These are honest words you’ve spoken, Tachibana,” he said, pencil diving into the lane next to Makoto.

“Asahi, we’re friends,” Makoto said lightly. “Please don’t take it that seriously.”

Kisumi stood in the space between their lanes and leaned his palms on his knees. “Fight for me with your heart, boys,” he said, tone cloyingly sweet. “I’ll be waiting at the finish line to greet the victor with my affections.”

“You’re a diva and a half,” Asahi snapped, pulling up on the bars below the starting block. “Call it.”

“Take your marks,” Kisumi chimed, the bubbles of giddiness clear in his voice.

Both Makoto and Asahi coiled forward, readying their muscles to spring. Asahi set his lips, ignoring the still-awkward position that his body had never taken comfortably to. Admittedly, backstroke had been the most difficult stroke for him to learn. It wasn’t necessarily that it was much more challenging than his own stroke, but the starting dive was universally different than every other, and it was difficult to cut a straight path across the pool when all he could see was the ceiling, or in other cases, the sky.

“Go!”

He had been practicing though. He wasn’t allowed not to. Once he’d finalized his decision to go into coaching, halfway through his first year of university, he’d obtained a sturdy resolve to perfect himself in every stroke, because how could he teach anyone else if he’d never experienced it? His body knew what to do, and it reacted instantaneously. It was just that Makoto was halfway across the pool before Asahi even broke the surface.

The brunet had been right, it wasn’t much of a competition. The favor just happened not to lean Asahi’s way. His last hope died when he flubbed the turn back and the only reason he finished out the “race” was because he could hear the obnoxious echoes of Kisumi’s voice cheering him on — just like always — and his body automatically reacted to that too.

“Wooow,” Kisumi praised, clapping his hands once Asahi had made it back and he and Makoto both stood catching their breath. “That was so exciting! Asahi, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you swim backstroke before.”

“Shut up,” he barked, cheeks burning as he looked the other way. “The sun was in my eyes.”

“We’re inside, Asahi.”

“Scoff.”

Makoto’s warm chuckle very lovingly grated his ears. “You were very impressive, Asahi. I guess I just have a lot of muscle memory built in. I’d never win a race against you in anything else.”

“Makoto is so humble,” Kisumi sighed, then turned his voice to the redhead who was still averting his gaze. “But as right as he is, Asahi, we made a deal. I’m afraid he’s going to have to take over this one, Coach.”

Kisumi was not at all distraught about this, and Asahi, again, found himself wanting to give the pink-haired novice a good slap.

“You’re a pain in the ass,” he sighed, pulling himself up out of the pool.

“Aw, Asahi,” Makoto pouted, still clinging to the edge of the pool. “If it means that much to you, we can both —”

Asahi waved a hand. “No, no. I am a man of my word. And if I don’t let this pampered prince have his way, I’ll never hear the end of it.”

He shoved Kisumi into the pool as he said so, and quietly relished in the little yelp that left him on the way in.

“Asahiii!” Kisumi whined.

The redhead didn’t bother to bite down his smirk.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I listened to several songs for inspiration/to get me into the AsaKisu headspace, while I was writing this story. I'll post one at the beginning of a chapter at some point in each part, to give you a reference to the tone of that section of the story. 
> 
> For Part I, the song is "Symphony" by Clean Bandit feat. Zara Larsson. If you haven't seen it, Faith Gigliorosa has a beautiful [amv](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-Glque1XIZc) on YouTube featuring AsaKisu and this song. I have gone back to it several, several times, and so will always associate this ship with "Symphony" as a result.

He had never technically _learned_ that Kisumi was gay. But he did remember the moment when it had clicked. There was no announcement or anything like that. It had hardly been any different than every other conversation they’d had over the phone, and the statement itself had just come out in random passing.

Asahi had been saying something about girls. He could never remember what specifically, but he must have asked a question about potential girlfriends or an interest in girls in general, because Kisumi had very causally responded with, “Asahi, I’m gay.”

This hadn’t been all that long after starting high school. Asahi remembered his pencil pausing on a math worksheet as he suddenly forgot how to subtract for a handful of seconds. And it wasn’t necessarily that he was surprised or anything. It was just something he’d never given an active thought to.

“I know,” had been his response. And it wasn’t until after he said so that he realized how very true that was. He did know. He always had. In hindsight, he could see the very big difference between comfy-friendly-Kisumi around all of the girls he’d befriended in middle school and intentionally-flirty-Kisumi around most all of the boys they’d gone to school with. Not excluding himself, to be honest. And in the same moment that all of these sweeping thoughts forced the cogs to turn in his mind, he also realized he neither cared nor minded. It hadn’t made much of a difference to him in that moment. But it was the first time he’d ever thought about it with intention, and the first time he’d ever opened the floor for Kisumi to freely talk about it with him. 

For anyone who knew Kisumi, it had never been a secret. Kisumi had never been the kind of person to shame any part of himself into hiding, and that would have stood true even if he wasn’t gay. He didn’t parade down the hallways declaring his sexual orientation to anyone who would listen, but it was understood. Kisumi liked boys. And, in their first year of middle school — at least within the confines of their friend group — none of them had ever fallen prey to being uncomfortable with that. In fact, Asahi was willing to bet that he wasn’t the only one who hadn’t thought about it at all, at the time.

Among being preoccupied with swimming and soul-searching, he knew at least Makoto had to have been facing similar realizations about his own orientation somewhere around then. Haru didn’t care about much of anything as long as it didn’t interfere with his standards of freedom and his relationship with Makoto. Ikuya had still been trying to get the idea of friendship in general through his head. There had been no reason for any one of them to have repulsed opinions about Kisumi — besides Asahi and his aforementioned personal conflict with Kisumi’s overwhelming personality in general.

For as long as Asahi had known Kisumi, in a close-contact setting, him being gay had never been a problem.

This apparently was not the case when they got into high school.

Aside from the one asshole who’d thought it funny to play with Kisumi’s emotions, the pink-haired boy, who had never beforehand had a problem with being very openly Kisumi, had found himself practically shunned wherever he went. His initial plan had been to join a million and one clubs in high school, but that ambition had turned up dry, as no one had wanted to affiliate themselves with him. They weren’t allowed to kick him out of their club gatherings, but he’d been cold-shouldered enough times to voluntarily drop out of everything except for basketball. That, he had very firmly stated to Asahi one day, they could never make him let go of. But it had come with the price of practicing in isolation most times and only being tolerated because his begrudging teammates knew he was good and their coach had been an overzealous, trophy addict. They just refused to talk to him outside of the court and made enough comments under their breath that he had decided to always wait to shower and change until he was the last one left, which he’d claimed had been fine by him, because it had given him more time to use up the court by himself.

Everything Asahi had learned about Kisumi’s high school experience had more often than not been rattled off in a very dismissive, unbothered way, as though none of these things had had any effect on Kisumi. But Asahi had picked up on enough clues to guess that the very opposite was true. For instance, the fact that all of his closest friends went to different schools and had known him before the age when being gay was a big deal. Or that, even though he went through waves upon waves of crushes, he never had real relationships with any of the guys he ever talked to Asahi about. Even the fact that he spoke with Asahi so often over the phone and through text messages, letters, and packages was clue enough.

And then, when they got into college, Kisumi finally had the opportunity to do all of the things he hadn’t allowed himself to do while confined within the walls of high school — hence the million and one clubs — because now they were in the big city, and less people cared or even bothered to pay attention, and he didn’t answer questions that he wasn’t asked anyway. Also, Asahi got the feeling that — even despite the miserable crush Kisumi still had on Makoto — being around Haru and Makoto, who very clearly did not fall into the heterosexual realm of being, allowed Kisumi to feel more comfortable about himself. He was still fully Kisumi, nothing had ever stopped him from being himself, but there was room for him to stretch out now.

In the back of his mind, Asahi had always been bothered by it all. Again, aside from the one asshole, he’d never made a big deal out of anything that Kisumi told him, because Kisumi never made a big deal about it himself, and Asahi had always been afraid that if he prodded too much maybe Kisumi would think he needed to make a big deal out of it, like being gay was his own problem. It wasn’t. The problem was that all the people who treated him poorly didn’t understand that Kisumi was a fantastic person and it didn’t matter that he was a boy who liked boys. It wouldn’t have mattered if he was a boy who liked girls. Kisumi was Kisumi, and he should always be allowed to be that.

Probably Asahi’s biggest regret at this point in his life was that he hadn’t been around to stubbornly and confidently walk down the hallways of Kisumi’s high school right by his side, as his friend, with no qualms whatsoever. The looks would have been priceless, he was sure, and he would have loved the opportunity to start a few fights.

* * *

It was surprisingly irritating, watching Makoto teach Kisumi how to swim. He’d been opposed to it to begin with, but now that it was happening, he had to stop himself from clenching his teeth every sixty seconds or so. And he tried to pinpoint why this was.

Was it the way Makoto’s hands casually touched Kisumi’s shoulders or his back to highlight the parts of Kisumi’s body that needed special attention and correction? Was it their close proximity to one another in general? Maybe it was the way Makoto cradled Kisumi’s floating body in his arms when initially talking him through the mechanics of how to swim backstroke? It couldn’t have been the warm demeanor of Makoto giving Kisumi his full attention. Asahi had seen Makoto do this for various others before, and there was a distinct difference between sincere and attentive Coach Tachibana and Makoto when he was softly admiring someone — like Haru, for instance.

Maybe instead, it was the opposite then. Maybe it was the way _Kisumi_ looked at Makoto. Maybe it was the satisfied smile lingering in his cheeks as though he was living out a fantasy with no reservations. Maybe it was the very willing way Kisumi allowed himself to be touched and corrected. Or maybe, it was the altogether forbidden notion that Asahi saw every similarity and difference between how Kisumi reacted to Makoto and how Kisumi normally reacted to him.

He didn’t intervene. He couldn’t bring himself to make a big deal of it. But also, he couldn’t bring himself to do anything other than watch from the other lane with his shoulder blades against the wall of the pool, realizing every now and then that he was quietly making faces. And it felt an awful lot like this moment in his life was stretching on in an agonizing span of time at twenty-percent speed, when in all actually it maybe lasted all of ten minutes.

“What are you doing?”

All three of them looked up to find Haru standing over the starting block in Kisumi and Makoto’s lane. He was in his jammers, bare-chested, goggles hanging around his neck, and very clearly unamused by what he had walked in on. At this point, Makoto had been in the midst of explaining how to start. Kisumi was perched on the wall, clinging to the starting block like a koala bear, and Makoto had a hand on his back. Both of them met Haru’s gaze with innocent smiles. Asahi felt a breath of relief escape his chest when Haru’s blue eyes pierced their way into Kisumi’s very soul.

“Makoto’s teaching me backstroke,” Kisumi said brightly, completely ignoring the look he was being given.

“That’s what Asahi’s for,” Haru said shortly, reaching a hand down to Makoto without looking away from Kisumi. Makoto gave no hesitation to reaching back and allowing Haru to anchor his weight as he climbed out of the water.

“Oh you missed all of that,” Kisumi said in the meanwhile, waving a dismissive hand. “There was a race and everything. It was determined Makoto’s better qualified to teach backstroke.”

Asahi stuffed his arms over his chest and pouted to himself.

“Makoto’s not your coach,” Haru stated, quite simply, for all it was worth. Then he side-eyed Makoto, who was raking his bangs back. “You said you would wait for me outside.”

“You were late,” Makoto said, head tilting to the side. He smiled at the look Haru gave him, even chuckled a bit. “Haru-chan, don’t get yourself so worked up.”

Haru huffed a breath through his nose and turned his head away. “I told you to drop the –chan.”

“Of course you did.”

“Asahi,” Haru called, pretending to ignore the affectionate pat Makoto gave to his hair. Somewhere in his eyes though, Asahi could see just how effective the tender motion was. Haru’s shoulders relaxed. “You’re a lousy coach.”

Asahi scoffed. “I am not lousy. My pupil is just rebellious. And anyway, while you were taking your dear sweet time getting here, I was overruled and sent to the corner.”

“No one said you had to put yourself in time-out, Asahi,” Kisumi giggled, leaning over the lane divider now.

Asahi snapped narrowed eyes on that stupid grin. “I think you owe me twenty push-ups.”

“Twenty?!”

“Right now. Out of the pool!”

By the time Kisumi moaned and groaned his way out of the water, Haru had taken a nose dive in to replace him and was gliding gracefully across the surface. Makoto mostly watched him with a gentle smile, but every now and then glanced over at the commotion the other two were causing as Asahi barked over Kisumi’s back and critiqued his lousy push-ups, while Kisumi giggled through every single one of them.

“You are truly ruthless, Asahi,” Makoto said, once Kisumi dramatically flopped over on his back.

Asahi poked out his chin and propped his fists on his hips. “You have to be, when your student is a good-for-nothing sack of potatoes.”

Kisumi still giggled. He sat up with rosy cheeks and shook out his wild hair. “I have an idea.”

Asahi crossed his arms again. “Listen, you’ve had several ideas since we stepped into this building, and I’ve hated every one of them.”

“Haru’s here now,” he said, ignoring Asahi’s comment as he pushed himself to his feet, smiling nearly from ear to ear. “Let’s do a relay.”

Makoto blinked, head jerking back with surprise as Asahi straight up busted out a laugh. He clapped a hand on Kisumi’s shoulder.

“You’re funny.”

“No, really. It’d be so much fun, wouldn’t it? You guys are always talking about how much you love relays. I want to be part of one.”

“Too much effort,” said Haru’s voice. No one had noticed him silently poke his head up out of the water just below them.

“Haru, you’re not fooling anybody,” Kisumi said, squatting in front of him and propping his arms on his knees. Haru frowned at the glittering smile Kisumi gave him. “You love relays too. You just don’t want to admit it out loud.”

“I only swim free.”

“I believe that’s no longer true, technically. So you can’t say that anymore.”

“You don’t know how to swim,” Haru shot back coolly, turning his head away. “You’ll drag us down. What’s the point?”

“Haru,” Makoto chided. “That’s not very nice at all.”

“It’d just be for fun,” Kisumi said, taking no offense whatsoever. “And I do too know how to swim.”

“If we’re doing a medley, you’d have to do breaststroke,” Asahi said, only conceding a little bit. “Since Haru’s going to insist on being the anchor probably.”

They all gave Haru an expectant glance. He stuck his nose up. “I only swim free.”

Asahi looked back to Kisumi. “See?”

“You can teach me,” Kisumi said, suddenly taking a hold of Asahi’s arm and propping his chin on his shoulder with a smile, and Asahi knew exactly what that look was.

He raised an eyebrow, forcing himself to remain as stoic and unbothered as was possible. “On the fly?”

“Sure. I believe in your coaching skills.”

The redhead scoff. “You didn’t half an hour ago,” he said turning his head away.

“Aw, but this is different. I gave you a fighting chance, didn’t I?”

“Are you saying it’s my own fault you left me for another coach?”

Kisumi gasped dramatically. “Of course not, Coach Asahi. I would never. You’re the purest, strongest, smartest, greatest, most beautiful —”

“Alright, fine. But you have to listen to everything I say.”

Kisumi snapped to attention with his elbows straight by his sides. “Yes, sir!”

Makoto giggled at the production.

Asahi turned his attention to the freestyle swimmer. “Haru, get out of the pool. We’re doing a relay.”

Haru huffed an annoyed breath and muttered something about Kisumi being spoiled, but allowed Makoto to pull him out of the water and switch places. They used Kisumi’s phone to set a stopwatch, and the brunet pulled himself up at the ready, waiting for the start.

“Pupil Kisumi, before we begin, please relay the exchange order and each stroke that we will be swimming.”

Kisumi set his shoulders and held his hands behind his back, taking a breath like he was a third grader about to recite a poem. “Makoto is the starter on backstroke. I will be swimming breaststroke behind him. You will follow with butterfly, and Haru is the anchor on freestyle.”

“Very good,” Asahi said, nodding his approval. “I would like for you to call the start, and I need you to step up on the block as soon as Makoto takes off.”

Kisumi beamed and rocked on his toes. “Ready, Makoto?”

Makoto shook out his elbows, head down. “Ready.”

“Set … Go!”

Haru started the stopwatch the moment Kisumi called it, and they all watched Makoto spring backward and disappear underneath the surface. Kisumi made a noise of excitement and hopped up on the starting block.

“Oh my gosh, this is so official. My heart’s racing!”

“Pull it together,” Asahi snapped. “You’ve never done an exchange before, so you’re going to have to wait for my signal. When I say go, you go, not a second before, not a second after, understand?”

Kisumi nodded. He was trying to be serious, but the smile on his face was like a child waiting for an ice cream cone.

“Look at me, look here,” Asahi called, grabbing Kisumi’s attention. “This is your stroke.” He moved his arms through the air to demonstrate and Kisumi copied the motion. “Keep your head tilted down to help you stay straight. Breathe in through your mouth when you come up, out through your nose when you go under. Your legs are going to kick like a frog. Use your palms and the soles of your feet to push the water back. Get yourself set.”

Kisumi crouched over to get ready, positioning himself the way Asahi had taught him before. Makoto, at this point was already heading back their way.

“You’re going to dive in exactly like I showed you yesterday. Keep your streamline tight until your momentum starts to come back up.”

“I won’t land on Makoto?”

“Not if you aim for the other side of the pool. You want to get out as far as possible. Don’t hesitate. Makoto will be well out of the way in time. All the way set, all the way.”

Kisumi tensed his muscles, drawing back on the starting block as he waited for Asahi’s order to spring.

“Don’t stop breathing right here,” Asahi instructed, leaning close so Kisumi could hear him over the splashing water. “Feel the rhythm of Makoto’s movements. If you watch him closely enough you can anticipate where his last stroke is going to be before he touches. Hold, not yet … Go!”

Kisumi leapt into the water with a solid dive. It was nothing to be impressed about within the swimming world, but considering he’d just learned how to dive yesterday, it was a good start. His dolphin kick was a mess and his transition on the follow-through was a bit of a confused blunder, but two strokes in, he started to find a pattern and make his way across the pool at a moderate pace. Makoto pulled himself out of the water and turned to watch, catching his breath.

“Pull your stomach in, back straight!” Asahi shouted, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Keep your hips as close to the surface as you can!”

Makoto chuckled. “He’s not half bad.”

“He’s slow,” Haru droned.

“He’s giving it a good effort. It’s his first time swimming breaststroke and he’s learning on the go. That’s pretty impressive.”

“Relax your shoulders, Kisumi!” Asahi continued to shout. “Don’t lose that rhythm!”

Kisumi’s body veered slightly left, then slightly right. His stroke was halfway decent in form but had little power behind it. His kick on the other hand was probably the sole thing getting him across the pool at all. It was endearing, admittedly, like watching a baby animal learn how to swim on its own.

“You’re coming up on your turn! Just touch the wall and kick off of it to push yourself back!”

Kisumi did as instructed — not cleanly, but effectively. He was much slower on the way back.

Asahi stepped up on the starting block. “Don’t you dare stop! Keep pushing, you’re almost there!”

By competition standards, of course, it took an achingly long time. But once Kisumi’s hands touched the wall and Asahi leapt in the water over his head, he felt a swell of pride fill his chest. He was glad his stroke was right after Kisumi’s, otherwise he might have said something embarrassing, or smiled too hard or something. Instead, he allowed that elation to pull him through the water, always aiming to beat his best time, no matter the circumstance.

His heart was racing too, even though this was something they were doing just for fun on behalf of their definitely spoiled friend, who just wanted to be included in everything they did. It was silly, doing a medley relay with a basketball player who had to be taught how to swim a specific stroke in the midst of the relay itself, but now that Asahi was in the water, participating in full, he felt that same rush of adrenaline he always got, that drive to swim at full power, and maybe show off just a little bit too. He definitely reached the opposite end of the pool much faster than usual, and he cleared the distance back in no time. Haru was in the water before he could even fully lift his head.

“Asahi!” Kisumi exclaimed breathlessly, bouncing over him as the redhead pulled himself out of the water. “You flew right over my head! That was so cool. You’re so fast!”

Asahi smiled and brushed his hair back. He glanced back over his shoulder to find Haru already kicking off the opposite wall. “Jesus Christ,” he sighed. “What a monster.”

“Haruuu!” Kisumi cheered, raising a fist in the air.

Makoto was ready with their stopwatch by the time Haru made it back. Kisumi was already skipping over to him, crowding behind his back with his chin over his shoulder to peek down at the phone.

“What’s it say! How did we do?”

“4:05.7”

“Slow,” Haru said, huffing from the water.

“It’s not bad at all,” Makoto said, “considering I’m still very out of shape, and Kisumi’s neither swam breaststroke nor participated in a medley before. It’s actually very good.”

“It’s slow,” Haru argued, holding up a hand. Makoto took it and pulled him out of the pool. “He used up half that time by himself.”

“He did great, Haru,” Asahi said, draping an arm around Kisumi’s shoulders. The pink-haired boy pulled in a breath of excitement, but Asahi cut him off before he could say anything. “You were incredibly sloppy and you nearly gave up halfway through. Your form was absolutely atrocious, and you almost ended up in the other lane … But, all things considered,” he sighed, grinning despite himself, “I suppose I’m proud of you.”

He dug his knuckles into Kisumi’s hair and the other laughed.

“That was so much fun!” he said, once Asahi let up. “I totally understand why you guys love swimming so much. Let’s do it again!”

“No.” Haru shuffled all of three feet over and jumped into the other lane, taking off again.

Kisumi giggled, watching him. “You’d think he’d have some enthusiasm for something he loves to do so much.”

Makoto smiled. “That was enthusiasm.” He gave Kisumi a pat on the back and the pink-haired dolt beamed. “You did really well, Kisumi. I’m impressed. And Asahi, you’re pretty great at coaching on the spot.”

Asahi smirked. “Well, you know. All it takes is quick-thinking and a good set of lungs.”

“I could barely hear a word you were saying,” Kisumi giggled.

Asahi wrinkled his nose and folded him in another headlock. “You’re a fucking bastard.”

Kisumi laughed.


	5. Chapter 5

The first time he’d met up with Kisumi before officially starting college, it had been a good year and a half since they’d last seen each other face to face. Despite having promised that they’d do their best to visit one another, the chips hadn’t often fallen the right way when it came to timing and responsibilities. Most times Asahi had gone back to Iwatobi to visit his grandmother, Kisumi had either been on vacation with his family, away at a training camp, or severely ill, in which case, Asahi had always been sure to bring something by for his mother to give him at least. And Kisumi had never been able to get to Asahi in Kyoto, specifically because there had been so much drama in Asahi’s household that, eventually, his father had moved out and Asahi had been shuffled back and forth between his parents for several months, even before the official divorce.

They had managed to see each other at least three times after their initial happenstance meeting, and, for the most part, each visit had been in rather rapid succession of one another. The first was the only time Kisumi had happened to be available when Asahi was visiting with his grandmother. They had met up at a park and played basketball for hours, then spent a while lounging on top of the jungle gym and talking about everything. They’d left the park together well after dusk, both sweaty and dirt-smudged, but smiling.

The second time had been only a couple months later, when Kisumi had joined Asahi, his sister, and her at-the-time boyfriend on a camping trip. Asahi’s father had initially refused to allow Akane to go on said camping trip with her boyfriend alone, even though she was already in college and should have been able to make that decision by herself. But she was still living at home at the time, so she couldn’t sneak around as easily as Asahi was sure she would have otherwise. Their father had only conceded when she declared she’d bring Asahi, who was very unwilling to go unless he was also allowed to bring someone, because he didn’t want to sit in the corner of the tent while his sister and her boyfriend made out the whole trip. Kisumi had been the first person he’d thought of, and it was just coincidental luck that he’d happened to have no previous plans for that summer break.

They’d spent four days in the mountains, most of which time, Asahi and Kisumi had spent doing their own thing, because Akane kept insisting they go find waterfalls and exotic birds to look at while she and her boyfriend “tended to the campsite.” Asahi had been willing to slide in not-so-subtle threats to kick her boyfriend’s ass if he tried anything funny and then leave it at that to tote Kisumi along on miles of hikes. They’d managed to find a good spot to do some cliff diving, explored a giant cave they happened upon behind one of several waterfalls, and overall ended up with some intense tan lines. 

It was the most time they’d ever spent together in one sitting, at that point, and it was the best four days of summer break that Asahi could ever remember having.

He wished he’d known it was going to be one of the very few times he’d get to see Kisumi at all though. Maybe it wouldn’t have made much of a difference, but it would have been nice to know. Maybe he could have drawn out the time, wasted a little less breath complaining about bugs in favor of enjoying having Kisumi with him instead.

He’d taken it for granted, Kisumi’s presence, that was for sure. And it wasn’t until after that year and a half that he recognized just how achingly he’d missed seeing that bright smile and those dancing purple eyes. During the time in between, he’d somehow convinced himself that it was no big deal. As long as he could keep up conversations with Kisumi over the phone, that was enough. They didn’t need to physically be together. But the moment he’d walked into the Shigino real estate office and saw Kisumi look up from behind the counter, he knew how terribly wrong he’d been about that.

He had played it cool for sure, acted like the knot in his throat and the pressure on his chest was no big deal. He was actually relieved that he’d had an excuse to leave quickly and deny the opportunity to sit down for tea. It wasn’t at all that he hadn’t wanted to. It was actually something along the very opposite. He’d known he would be seeing Kisumi at school — absolutely nothing was going to stop that after that point — and his reassurance of such had been more for himself than for Kisumi. Then he’d summoned all of his energy not to run away the moment he turned. He remembered feeling Kisumi’s gaze watching him as he left, and it had racked his entire being with chills that insisted on trembling his spine for a whole ten minutes after he was long gone.

Of all the things he had anticipated from finally seeing Kisumi again, his own actual reaction had not been one of them. It had left a lasting impression, to say the least.

* * *

“What’s wrong?”

Kisumi looked up, immediately whisking away the mild frown he’d been wearing in exchange for a smile, though it didn’t turn up at the corners the way it normally did. He put his phone face down on the table next to his text book. Asahi sat opposite him, back in front of his own homework, which he’d walked away from in exasperation for a bathroom break and a bowl of chips that he now set down between them.

“Hayato’s not feeling well,” Kisumi sighed, picking at a chip that he decided not to eat. His smile pinched thoughtfully in the corner as he laid his cheek in his palm and then raised his eyes across the table to Asahi who also propped his elbows on the table and placed his chin in his palms.

“Is he sick?”

Kisumi nodded. “Mom said she picked him up from swim club with a fever. He wanted to talk to me.”

Asahi hummed in response, mostly to acknowledge that he’d heard. He watched Kisumi stare at the chip bowl for a while, his gaze far off, no trace of a smile on his face anymore though he looked more thoughtful than anything. Asahi had become familiar with this look. He himself rarely ever got homesick these days. It was hard to miss home when he never felt like he really had one to begin with. His sister and nephew were here in Tokyo, which drew his parents in often enough. He still saw his family more frequently than he’d like to at this point, but he knew, for Kisumi especially, that wasn’t the case.

“You miss him,” he stated, his lips tilting up in the corner. Kisumi lived in a lot of different roles, but it was no question that big brother was his favorite. Asahi had always found it charming.

Kisumi huffed a breath through his nose. “Yeah.” He poked out his lip in a pout and groaned. “He sounded so miserable. I’m usually there with him when he’s sick.”

“He’ll be alright. He’s what like seven now? Eight? He’s practically a man, for goodness sake.”

Kisumi laughed lightly. “Don’t say things like that. I want him to stay young and innocent forever.”

“Geez, you sound like a parent. You’ll get to see him soon enough. And when you do, he’ll tell you all about how grown up he is, sleeping through his fevers by himself. Or did you want to cuddle up with him and catch whatever he’s got?”

Kisumi smiled, raising his purple eyes across the table. “I’ve never gotten sick from him, thank you.”

“You just want an excuse not to do your communications homework.”

Kisumi scoffed and sat up straight. “I would never exploit my little brother like that.”

“Then you can send him a get well soon card and go see him in a couple of weeks, like you planned to do anyway. 1,000 yen says his fever breaks ten minutes into his sleep tonight.”

Kisumi’s smile turned soft as he locked gazes with Asahi for a moment and shook his head with a small chuckle. “You’re going to be the kind of dad who tells your kid to suck it up when they break their arm.”

“Absurd. I’ll at _least_ hand them a compass and tell them which direction to walk in to get to the hospital.”

Kisumi giggled, and it sounded more like him. His smile fully reached his eyes now and he plucked a chip out of the bowl between them. “Oh, you’re going to be a nightmare,” he sighed. “Poor babies.”

“My kids will be tough as steel. Just you wait.”

Kisumi chuckled to himself, eyes glancing down at his homework. Then, after a thought, he rolled out from under the table and crawled around to plop against Asahi’s side. His knee dropped on top of Asahi’s thigh as he crossed his legs and he let his head fall on Asahi’s shoulder, letting go of a long exhale. Asahi patted his knee.

“He’ll be fine,” he said, tenderly this time. “He’s a tough cookie.”

“Yeah,” Kisumi hummed, curling his arms around his bicep. He couldn’t very well do his homework like this, but he wasn’t exactly eager to get back to it either. They were both taking advantage of the moment to procrastinate, and it was warranted. They’d been sitting in Kisumi’s apartment, diligently plowing through their work for a solid two hours at least at this point. 

A comfortable quiet settled around them for a moment as Asahi used his free hand to dip back into the chip bowl several times, not at all bothered by Kisumi’s cuddling. This was also a normal thing on homework Saturdays. It was inevitable that at some point Kisumi would wiggle his way into nuzzling up against Asahi like a cat that refused to allow productivity when there was a perfectly good opportunity for a head scratch instead. They were usually by themselves on Saturdays like this, so Asahi never gave this closeness a second thought. He never thought to initiate it himself, but he was about as fond of the coziness as Kisumi was for sure.

“It would be nice to have kids one day,” Kisumi said, his voice quiet. His tone felt very double-sided. The redhead could hear both the gentle hum of hope and the twang of sadness in it.

“There are ways,” he said. “You could adopt a kid.”

Kisumi hummed a sigh, shoulders sinking. “Yeah …” There was a smile in his voice accompanying his next words. “I kind of want them to look like me though.”

Asahi snorted a laugh. “Of course you do. Goodness, what was I thinking?” He tossed another couple of chips in his mouth, and licked the salt from his fingers. “There are ways to do that too. Though, it’s probably hella expensive. You could put your sperm in a bottle and give it to some girl to get pregnant for you.”

“That’s disgusting.”

“People do it.”

“I know people do it. It’s just so weird to think about.”

Asahi shrugged, already turning a smirk over Kisumi’s head. “Go get one knocked up the old fashioned way then.”

Kisumi squealed in horror, cringing as he tightened his hold and trembled from head to foot. “Nooo! That’s even worse. Ugh, don’t say things like that. I could never.”

Asahi chuckled and shook his head. “Your poor partner is going to have a time.”

Kisumi huffed. “I don’t even know what you mean by that,” he denied, turning his nose up.

“You know exactly what I mean by that.” He reached over with his free arm to pinch Kisumi in the ribs. He squeaked a yelp, pulling away enough to swat at Asahi’s shoulder. The redhead snickered.

“I am perfectly pleasant,” Kisumi said, resting his head back on Asahi’s shoulder only after deciding it was safe.

“Mmhm.” Asahi picked up his pencil with his left hand and doodled a clumsy anchor in the corner of one of his papers. He suddenly found himself thinking back on the evening before and tilted his head to the side.

“Hey …”

“Hey,” Kisumi responded, leaning over the table to delicately grab a single chip and pop it in his mouth.

“When are you going to stop pining after Makoto?”

Kisumi made a noise somewhere between a cough and a snicker, except it all came out of his nose and he went limp against Asahi’s side. He covered his face with his hands to muffle his giggles.

Asahi found the corner of his lips perking up quietly. He kept doodling. “You still have a crush on him, don’t you?”

Kisumi pushed his hair back and turned his head. Asahi gave him a side glance. Kisumi’s lips pursed but it hardly did anything to hide his growing smile, though he tried to cover it with bashfulness. Asahi didn’t buy it for a second of course, because those purple eyes were glittering quite radiantly. The redhead rolled his eyes and shook his head.

“Oh, come on,” Kisumi whined. “How could you not?”

“Don’t come crying to me when Haru finally snaps and kicks your ass one day. You know you’ve been asking for it.”

Kisumi scoffed. “Haru doesn’t have the mental energy for that kind of thing.”

“I wouldn’t put it past him.”

The pinked-haired boy sighed, leaning more of his weight on Asahi as he turned his head up to look at the ceiling. “Are we really even sure that Haru and Makoto are an official thing? They haven’t technically said anything about it.”

Asahi barked a laugh. “You know good and well that doesn’t mean a goddamn thing. Honestly.” He shook his head to himself. “You need to stop pretending Makoto’s genuine kindness is anything more than him just being a decent person. You _know_ he’s gone. You’ve seen the way he looks at Haru. Don’t kid yourself.”

Kisumi groaned a whine and let his chest fall forward, dropping his face on the table with his arms draped across. He wiggled and squirmed and whined some more, and all the while, Asahi continued adding to his drawing, pretending not to care. Honestly. Kisumi needed to get over it. Kisumi _needed_ to get over it, because Asahi couldn’t stand looking at that doting face anymore, not while Makoto continued to be the subject matter.

Kisumi drew out his mini fit much longer than was necessary and the redhead knew he just wanted attention. But Asahi refused to give it to him, so the other stilled after a little while and exhaled a long breath. Asahi could hear the tick of a watch somewhere, within the silence that followed, and he waited it out patiently until Kisumi finally turned his head to the side, purple eyes gazing thoughtfully at the wall.

“Asahi?”

“Hm?”

“Can I ask you something?”

“Okay.”

Kisumi sat up enough to lean on his elbow, body angled to look directly back at Asahi, whose pencil paused.

“You have to answer honestly,” he said, a gleam of severity in his eyes.

Asahi stared back. “What is it?”

Kisumi’s chest expanded with air. “Do you think I’ll ever find someone?”

The redhead blinked, sure to keep his expression as blank as he could. His pulse did something weird, but he wasn’t at liberty to think too much about it. He forced himself to shrug.

“Yeah,” he responded, though something about his tone sounded questionable, and he could tell Kisumi heard it by the look he gave him.

That pinked-haired head tipped at a bit of an angle. “Do you _want_ me to find someone?”

He couldn’t deny the very suspicious way his throat suddenly went dry, as though this was a valid question, as though it had merit. His heart did it again, a kind of shuffling side-step, as though it was trying to get out of the way, like it was avoiding the gravity of something that was trying to pull it out of his chest. A tingle met his fingertips and he was very aware that his face was going warm, but he still didn’t change his expression.

He was much too late opening his mouth to respond, and what came out was hardly trustworthy. “Of course. Why wouldn’t …” He stopped, took a breath and looked down at his homework, though he very well wasn’t going to do anything with it.

“You deserve to be happy,” he said, as casually as he could make it sound. “E-Every decent person does. And you’re my friend, so of course I’d want you to find joy in a healthy relationship that’s good for you, with someone who will love you as fiercely as you need them to, and tend to your every need and want in life while treating you like a king, and making sure that …” His declaration died off mid-sentence and he glanced up.

Kisumi’s eyes were still galaxies, trapped in the soul of one man’s body, and Asahi resisted being sucked in by them. That tauntingly dangerous smile crept up on those cheeks, and the redhead’s heart finally got away. He wasn’t sure where it went.

“That’s so sweet, Asahi.”

Asahi pursed his lips but was unsuccessful at tearing his gaze away.

“Why’d you stop?”

“Narcissist,” he grumbled under his breath.

Kisumi giggled. “Do you really feel that way?”

“That you’re a narcissist?”

“No, the other stuff.”

Asahi made a face, trying to counteract the blush in his cheeks. He finally turned his head. “Why are you fishing? Just take the compliments I already gave you. I’m the one who’s supposed to call you names.”

Kisumi’s giggle was soft this time, mellowed by affection. “You always get so flustered about sharing how you really feel, Asa-chan.”

Asahi wrinkled his nose and yanked Kisumi’s hood over his head, forcing it down over his eyes. Kisumi cracked with joyous laughter when the redhead then wrestled him down onto his stomach. He perched himself on Kisumi’s back, pinning his waist with his knees. Kisumi’s shoulders shook, his giggles muffled by the carpet.

“You’re a fucking nightmare.”


	6. Chapter 6

The third and final time he’d seen Kisumi before their unintentional break from one another, Asahi had run away from home for two weeks.

His parents were still technically “together” at the time, but there was no denying that they should not have been at that point. Asahi had never understood what possessed them to live in the same house as long as they had. Most of the childhood memories he had of them consisted of a lot of yelling, a lot of drowning them out with the television volume at max, a lot of hiding out with his sister in her room, a lot of pretending that it wasn’t happening.

Akane had grown accustomed to leaving her door open for him, and whenever their parents started arguing, he’d casually wander into her room and close the door behind him, then lay on her bed and play games on his phone while she did whatever it was older sisters did on their computers. Then she started college.

Asahi knew the only reason she had elected to continue living at home for a period of time was for his sake. And, in all honesty, he was glad she hadn’t up and walked out never to turn back. If given the chance, he definitely would have. And he most definitely wouldn’t have blamed her if she had chosen to do that, but being able to sneak into her room late at night and lie next to her, talking for hours about their respective days and how much they both looked forward to simply being adults were some of the moments he had always looked forward to the most — besides his conversations with Kisumi. His sister was the only person who truly understood how frustrated he was, simply because she’d had to grow up in the same house.

However, college demanded a lot more than just attending classes, and the Shiina kids were social people at heart. Akane had her friends, her boyfriends, her clubs, part-time jobs, and events that she attended. Add on the advantage of having managed to save up enough to buy her own car right after high school, and Asahi simply didn’t see her much around the house anymore. Hence why their talks always took place late into the night. Which meant he was stuck at home with his parents alone much more often than he could tolerate.

About halfway through his second year of high school, Asahi had come home from a tournament with three medals around his neck and a grin splitting his face. He’d been feeling relatively good about himself. He was the only one from the team who had won in his heat on every race and passed the qualifying times to move on to regionals. His sister had made an appearance at the meet, but had parted ways with him immediately after to join her girlfriends for a retreat they’d been planning for months. His parents had had other things going on that day, which was the case fifty percent of the time. So he’d walked into his house ready to present them with his medals and give them something to smile about for a little while.

Instead, however, he had happened upon them arguing in the kitchen about who was going to have custody of him. His father was going to move, and his mother refused to go with him, and they were both declaring that Asahi would live with them, but neither wanted to share. He’d picked up the gist of it after standing in the doorway for all of two minutes, then had simply turned away in silence, closed himself in his room, and started packing a bag.

He hadn’t had a plan at all when he walked back out of the house, and his parents had been too preoccupied to notice him leave. His sister was going to be gone for the next few days. He was supposed to have another week of school before his next break, but he wasn’t about to sit in that kind of shit for another five days. Muscle memory took him to the train station and bought him a ticket to Iwatobi. Maybe somewhere in the back of his mind he was thinking that he’d go to his grandmother’s place, but in the long run that was not what happened. Because, by the time his feet had stopped walking, he looked up to find himself on the Shigino porch.

It hadn’t crossed his mind, not at all — not in waking thought at least. But upon realizing where he’d ended up, he also had no problem with the option, so he rang the doorbell and, coincidentally, Kisumi answered. His purple eyes had initially blinked at him with surprise. He’d been half in the process of turning up a bright smile, but then had glanced at the bag on Asahi’s shoulder and adopted a very severe look of realization instead.

His first response had been to step forward and pull Asahi into a hug, resting his chin on his shoulder and squeezing him tightly in silent reassurance that he was present and Asahi was safe. It had very much reminded him of that first definitive moment he had considered Kisumi his friend back in middle school.

It rose a knot in his throat, and though he hadn’t allowed the emotions to overwhelm him, he had dropped his head on Kisumi’s shoulder and mumbled, “Can I stay with you?” into his shirt.

To which Kisumi had responded with an immediate, “Of course.”

An hour later, he’d found himself sitting on the couch across from Hayato, both of them sitting stiffly with their shoulders squared, staring in an unblinking silence at one another as Kisumi explained the situation to his parents in the other room.

They had let him stay on the pretense that his family know where he was. So he had called his sister. Akane questioned him about school, but didn’t say anything else once he definitively affirmed he would not be going home until their parents learned how to talk to each other like adults. So she took it upon herself to communicate to them why Asahi was ignoring their calls, and dropped by Iwatobi two days later to give Asahi money and a very long hug.

It was an otherworldly place, Kisumi’s home. The Shiginos were very bubbly and kind people. Hayato was a bit of an exception, in regards to being bubbly, but once he had warmed up to Asahi being around, they became the best of friends. Asahi and Kisumi spent a lot of time taking him to the pool and the park, feeding ducks and digging through the sandbox for buried treasure. Hayato’s favorite game was hide-and-seek, and he was dreadfully good at it, being the tiny silent type that he was. But Asahi gave him a run for his money, and took advantage of every round they played to squeeze into spaces he couldn’t initially be seen only to pop out as Hayato ran by and sweep the squealing little boy up into his arms.

Hayato’s laugh was very similar to Kisumi’s, just younger and somewhat unexpected from such a naturally timid child. But Asahi learned he was one of those people who just had to know he could trust you first, and then he blossomed just about as fully as his brother did, complete with shining eyes and a wide smile. He also liked closeness, but in a subtle way that was different from Kisumi. Where the the older brother liked to throw his arms around Asahi and lean into him with all of his weight, Hayato just simply ghosted up out of nowhere and slid small, cold fingers into Asahi’s palm. The redhead didn’t mind.

It had been fun, spending time with them both, pretending he didn’t have a family elsewhere that was expecting him home every day. He would have stayed longer than two weeks, but Kisumi had decided to be wise one night and play the bolstering card.

In the shadows of his room, they had remained awake well into the night, spouting out nonsense until Kisumi had slipped off of his bed and laid himself on his stomach next to Asahi, on the futon he’d been camping out on on the floor. Asahi had been lounging on his back with his hands behind his head, and he’d turned his gaze to find Kisumi’s purple eyes cutting through the darkness to smile at him softly.

“I love having you here, Asahi,” he had said. Then after tilting his head, he added, “But your parents are scared, and I think you’re the only one who’s brave enough to save them.”

He’d said other things that night, but it was that initial statement that had ultimately convinced Asahi to go back home. And Kisumi had continued to feed him encouragements of the like in any other way that he could long-distance. It was one of the few things that had gotten Asahi through the chaotic brokenness of his parents’ separation and then their eventual divorce.

* * *

Asahi sat at the bar, lackadaisically filling out answers on a practice exam with one hand as his other pinched the back of Tsukushi’s shirt to keep him from standing up or crawling across the counter. Akane was tending to an older couple at the table in the back corner. It was a relatively quiet Wednesday evening save for Tsukushi’s aimless babbling. Asahi wasn’t paying him much mind at the moment, but he knew his nephew was trying to argue with him about not being permitted to climb over the counter and onto the display case of cakes and pastries, and this was clear when he turned and started tugging on Asahi’s hair.

“Oi,” the redhead chided, still not looking away from his practice test.

“Toki.”

“Whatever that means.”

“Mama!” he shrieked.

“Mama’s working. Give her a break every once in a while, would you? And stop screaming. You act like you’re a baby or something.”

Tsukushi made a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeal and tossed himself at Asahi’s head, forcing him to jerk both arms up to catch him from toppling over his shoulder. He laughed.

“What a booger. I’m doing homework. I have a test coming up.”

“No!”

Asahi sucked his teeth. “Is that the only word you know?”

“No!”

The bell rang over the shop door and Kisumi’s bright smile entered the room, lighting up like a thousand-watt bulb as soon as his eyes landed on Tsukushi, who jumped off the edge of the counter with reaching hands.

“Oi, oi,” Asahi said, still holding him around the middle. “Don’t just go leaping into the air like that.”

“Mimi!”

“Tsuku-chan!” Kisumi cooed in response, sweeping forward with a dip and catching the baby up in his arms. Tsukushi giggled as Kisumi blew raspberries into his cheek.

Asahi turned back to his practice exam, giving the interaction no acknowledgement other than to smile softly to himself.

“Kisumi-kun,” Akane greeted, shuffling back behind the bar with a stack of empty dishes that she placed on a tray to free her hands for tossing a dirty towel over her shoulder, preparing to head back into the kitchen to clean up for the night. The older couple was on their way out of the shop. Akane had already turned the closed sign about. “Thank you for coming to watch Tsukushi for date night.”

“It is my absolute pleasure,” Kisumi beamed, chuckling as Tsukushi attempted to climb on top of his head.

“I hope I’m not keeping you from anything.”

“Nope, just came from a meeting. I’m done for the night.”

“You could have asked me to watch him, you know,” Asahi mumbled. He felt his sister’s eyes roll on him.

“Leave you alone with my only child? What kind of mother do you think I am?”

Asahi scoffed, popping his head up to gape in offense at her grin. “I am a fantastic uncle, I’ll have you know. The best one he’s ever gonna have.”

Akane propped her hands on her hips. “When’s bedtime?”

“Tch. When he falls asleep.”

“7:30,” Kisumi said, bouncing Tsukushi on his hip now, his thumb caught in the toddler’s fist.

Asahi rolled his eyes to him. “Kiss-ass.”

“Hey!” Akane leaned over the counter to pop him in the shoulder. “That’s exactly why.”

“What, like you don’t cuss around him.”

“I most certainly do not. Kisumi-kun, everything’s where it usually is. I’ll heat up his bottle for you while I’m finishing up the kitchen. He should be out by the time I leave. Don’t let Asahi near anything sharp, and he’s not allowed any snacks after nine o’clock.”

“Scoff,” Asahi retaliated loudly, sticking his tongue out before his sister turned away to disappear into the kitchen.

Kisumi giggled and perched himself on the stool next to him. “And when is your bedtime, Asa-chan?”

Asahi popped him on the thigh, igniting more giggles. “Shut up. Stop calling me that.”

“You should say it in a bored drawl, like Haru does.”

Asahi flattened his expression and lowered his voice. “Drop the –chan.”

Kisumi laughed. “That was very nearly perfect.”

“ _Nearly_ perfect? That was spot on. What are you talking about?”

Kisumi only smiled. “How were your classes today?”

Asahi scoffed half a groan. “I have a fucking exam next week.”

“Asahi,” Kisumi hissed, pressing Tsukushi’s head to his chest with a hand over his ear. The baby simply smiled, gnawing on his own fingers and clutching Kisumi’s shirt with his other hand.

“He doesn’t know what I’m saying.”

“Babies understand more than you think they do. Just because he can’t talk that much yet, doesn’t mean he’s not absorbing the conversations around him. That’s how he learns. They’re like sponges.”

Asahi wrinkled his nose. “You’re such a dad. And why is he so calm when you hold him?”

Kisumi perked up an affectionate smile and kissed the top of Tsukushi’s head. “He likes me.”

“You are so full of yourself. I can’t believe no one gets that.”

“Oji is jealous, Tsuku-chan. You’ve made him upset, I’m afraid.”

“Oh stuff it, you big prat.”

Kisumi tutted and sat Tsukushi on the edge of the counter. Tsukushi reached out with slobbery hands and a high-pitched giggle, patting Kisumi’s cheeks. He laughed, making faces through his smiles.

“Ojisan needs your love too, Tsuku-chan. Can you share?”

Asahi leaned away with a disgusted groan as Tsukushi waved his grubby fingers toward his face with the help of Kisumi’s insistence. They both laughed at Asahi’s reaction.

“Give kisses!” Kisumi sang.

Asahi held his hands up to protect himself, and utterly failed at keeping his laugh down as his nephew pulled at his shirt. “Ugh! You’ve got slobber all over you.”

“Kisses, Oji!”

“That’s so unsanitary.”

“Jiji!” Tsukushi squealed, leaping fully onto Asahi’s chest, per the encouragement of Kisumi practically tossing him. Asahi half groaned, half giggled as his nephew’s wet mouth chomped on his jaw.

“Ahh!” he squealed, very much with exaggeration, tickled by the baby’s laughter. “Yucky!”

He made a face at the little one and dramatically wiped his cheek.

“Yucky!” Tsukushi giggled. “Yucky! Yucky!”

Kisumi chuckled, pulling him back to sit him on his lap again. “You see? He’s listening. Don’t mind him, Tsuku-chan. Your kisses are beautiful.”

“Mm, full of germs is what he means, booger. You can’t go around putting your mouth on any ol’ person like that.” He tickled his nephew in the side and Tsukushi kicked his feet with a squeal. Asahi chuckled. “You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

“If cute is the only criteria, then Kisumi would be happy to give Asahi kisses too.”

Asahi blinked, turning his attention away from his nephew to look up at Kisumi, who was smiling fondly but not looking back. He simply continued playing with Tsukushi as though he hadn’t said anything, his purple eyes fully absorbed by the baby human on his lap, who babbled and giggled in response.

Asahi found himself sitting back, just watching. His own smile had disappeared somewhere and it was replaced by the smallest of creases on his forehead as he listened to the muffled, sporadic rhythm of his pulse sending warm blood to the very tops of his cheeks and the back of his neck.

It was familiar, and yet intensely foreign, something that made his palms sweat and every little minute detail about this scene magnified. The sun was nearly gone, and it cast a ray of orange-gold light across the wood floors of the café and touched the curve of Kisumi’s smiling cheek. Tsukushi was much bigger than he was when he met Kisumi, much more mobile, much more vocal, and yet three times as pacified in his arms now. Kisumi was wearing a maroon hoodie … It went well with his hair.

It was a long weightless moment before those eyes finally met Asahi’s and it was with an unapologetic confidence that made Asahi’s spine tingle. The setting sunlight did mesmerizing things to the lavender glow of Kisumi’s eyes. His lips moved, but no sound came out of them.

Asahi blinked.

“Asahiii. Are you still with us?” Kisumi chuckled, casually leaning his head away from Tsukushi’s fingers trying to yank at his hair.

“Why did you say that?”

“Say what?”

“Alright,” Akane sighed, walking back in from the kitchen with a bottle. Tsukushi immediately started curling his fingers for it with his arms above his head.

“Mine!”

Akane giggled. “Where are your manners, knucklehead?” She passed the bottle into his hands over the counter and he stuffed it in his mouth, tossing his head back to lounge against Kisumi’s chest.

“He’ll knock out after that,” Akane said, shaking her head with a fond smile. “I’m going to go get ready.” She glanced at her watch. “Kon should be back in about fifteen minutes. Do you need anything before I leave you to it?”

Kisumi shook his head. “Nope, we’re all good here.”

“Alright,” Akane said, turning away again. “Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge. We should be back around eleven.”

“Take your time.”

“Thank you, Kisumi-kun.” She waved a hand over her head and disappeared through the door hiding the stairwell that led up to the Kurimiya apartment.

Kisumi scooped an arm under Tsukushi’s legs, accommodating the posture he’d chosen, and held his back against his chest as he stood.

“How about a family-friendly movie, Oji?” he said, his voice sweet, teeth white as he beamed down at Tsukushi and then turned his gaze to Asahi, who was still watching him.

Asahi pulled in a breath, willing away the little flutter in his stomach that squirmed around when Kisumi looked at him. He exhaled with a sigh, turning his gaze away, and stuffed his practice exam in his book bag as he stood. He tossed the bag over his shoulder, then followed Kisumi upstairs.


	7. Chapter 7

They’d brought two tents on their camping trip. Originally, it was supposed to be one big one, but Akane’s at-the-time boyfriend had stashed an extra in the trunk without anyone else’s knowledge, and despite how shifty he was, Asahi wasn’t about to complain about not being able to share a tent with him and his sister. Akane’s boyfriend smelled like weed and old potato chips.

Asahi and Kisumi had been given the smaller tent on the agreement that all of their stuff would stay in the big tent with Akane and her boyfriend. It wasn’t uncomfortable. There was enough space for them to make a giant nest of a bed and sleep well enough apart from each other. Though, Asahi tended to sleep quite wildly and spent most of those nights sprawled across two thirds of their space, not bothering with a blanket on account of the dense heat of that summer. Kisumi had groggily assured him each morning that he didn’t mind that Asahi had probably kicked him in the knee and flopped a wrist onto his forehead in the middle of the night.

The pink-haired boy liked to sleep curled up in a ball, as tucked into himself as he could possibly get. He’d also brought extra pillows to surround himself with, holding one to his chest and tucking the other against his back. He liked to be closed in on every side, had explained that smaller spaces were actually a comfort to him. Having open space at his back made him feel vulnerable, particularly in the dark, so he walled himself in. The first night he had divulged this to Asahi, the redhead had simply huffed a chuckle and commented that it explained a lot. Then he’d stuffed his arms behind his head with his feet spread out and fell asleep almost immediately.

The second night, they’d talked for a long while, well into the early hours of the morning, becoming delirious with giggles as they rattled off memories from middle school and teased each other for having been absolute dorks at the tender age of twelve. They’d slept well into the afternoon the next day, and Asahi had woken with his shirt sticking to his back and his fingers tangled in Kisumi’s hair an arm’s length away.

The last night, they’d done less giggling and more staring at each other through thick shadows, listening to cicadas and rustling leaves and whispering about deer and raccoon dogs. Asahi remembered nodding off several times, his hazy gaze struggling to focus on Kisumi’s starry eyes, until he finally mumbled something along the lines of “Thanks for camping my sister. Would’ve been a drag … without you.” He was sure he’d fallen asleep directly after that, because he remembered little else other than flopping over onto his back.

He’d woken the next morning to a tickle in his nose and had drowsily opened his eyes to cool blue morning light, blinking over the top of Kisumi’s hair. It had taken him a long while to process where he was and much longer still to recognize that Kisumi had his back pressed up close against his chest and Asahi’s own arm was holding him there. Kisumi’s temple was resting on his bicep, and he had to rotate his wrist and flex his fingers to get the blood flowing back into his hand. He remembered the sleepy tingle in the skin of his fingertips, remembered the warmth of Kisumi’s body breathing so close to his, remembered glancing blearily around the tent and then laying his head back down and closing his eyes to sleep for another hour.

On the way back home, Kisumi had turned a teasing smile on him and thanked him for protecting him from the raccoon dogs.

* * *

“How’s Hayato?”

“Still a little under the weather, but he sounded better.” Kisumi handed Asahi his cell phone, and the redhead pocketed it for him, stopping short in front of the locker room on the bottom level of the arena. “He gave me a good luck blessing.”

“That’s good,” he said, adjusting the bag on his back. He smirked. “You have no valid reason to flub this then.”

Kisumi smiled and combed back his hair. “When do I ever?”

Asahi rolled his eyes. “I’m waiting for the day. Honestly. You’re going to get too cocky, and the moment you show off, you’re gonna fall on your ass, and I’m gonna laugh.”

Kisumi giggled. “You give the best pep-talks, Asa-chan.”

Asahi punched him in the shoulder. “I told you about that, fucker. I’m not in the business of being cute. I am a water god — like Poseidon. I’ll fuck you up, bitch.”

Kisumi continued to laugh. “Sit where I can see you, okay? You’re my hype man.”

“Always.”

“Makoto said they’re on their way, right?”

Asahi sighed. “Yes, your highness, I’ll meet them at the door with their tickets as instructed.” He checked his phone for the time. “By the way, Makoto’s not going to help you win this game, okay? I told you to cut it out with him.”

Kisumi smiled. “Are you jealous?”

“Shut your mouth,” Asahi snapped, shooting a glare at him, and of course Kisumi only became twice as amused. Asahi rolled his eyes and turned away. “I expect to see some ass-kicking tonight. Don’t disappoint me,” he shouted over his shoulder.

“I never do,” Kisumi responded, waving him away.

Asahi made his way back up to the entrance of the arena and just happened to get there as Makoto, Haru, Ikuya, and Hiyori were all walking up the steps to the doors. Makoto spotted him first and waved a hand over his head with a bright smile as the others filed in behind him.

“Asahi!”

“Yo,” Asahi greeted, walking over to meet them and immediately dish out the tickets he’d been storing in his pockets.

“Basketball games are so exciting, aren’t they?” Makoto said, taking Haru’s ticket for him. “Is Kisumi ready?”

“As cocky a shithead as ever,” Asahi said. “He’ll be fine.”

“Remind me again, which position does he play?” Hiyori mumbled, nose in a book as his eyes scanned the pages behind his glasses.

Asahi made a face at him, though Hiyori didn’t look up to see it. “Did you really bring that again?”

“I know nothing about this sport,” he argued, flipping a page.

“You lived in America. You’ve been coming to Kisumi’s games for the past five months. Why haven’t you picked this up yet?”

“Listen,” Hiyori said, picking his head up. “I am a swimmer. You of all people should know, they are two completely different forms of athletics. And you never answered my question.”

“He’s a power forward,” Asahi drawled.

“Power forward,” Hiyori mumbled, turning more pages in his encyclopedia.

Asahi shook his head and snapped his gaze to Ikuya. “How are you not embarrassed by him?”

Ikuya raised a cool eyebrow and glanced at his best friend before looking back to Asahi with a shrug. “I never said I wasn’t.”

Hiyori looked over out of the corner of his eye. “That’s mean.”

“You’re a fucking dork,” Asahi exclaimed, turning to lead the way to their seats. “Please don’t have your nose stuck in that the whole time we’re here.”

“I thought it was helpful last time,” Makoto said, always at an attempt to unify his friends. “It makes the games more exciting when you know all the rules. Sometimes I forget them.”

“Thank you,” Hiyori said.

Asahi tossed his voice over his shoulder as he let the attendant at the section door scan his ticket. “He’s just trying to make you feel better. He’s probably embarrassed by you too.”

“Asahi,” Makoto chided.

“It’s true,” Haru mumbled.

“Haru!”

“Well goddammit,” Hiyori sighed, snapping the book shut. He pushed his glasses up his nose. “I’ll just have to sit next to you and ask you questions then,” he threatened.

Asahi didn’t hide his groan of annoyance. “Why do we bring you places? Honestly.”

“Ikuya hasn’t figured out how to get rid of him yet,” Haru said.

Asahi laughed. Hiyori scoffed. Ikuya choked on a snicker. Makoto gasped.

“Haruka,” he whined. “You guys are so mean.”

Asahi shrugged, hands in his pockets as they descended the stairs toward the court. “It’s payback.”

“For chrissake,” Hiyori sighed. “How many times do I have to apologize?”

“Until I’m satisfied.” The redhead shuffled across the middle section toward their seats, about two rows back from the court, and propped his feet up on the back of the seat in front of him once he sat. He sighed to himself when Hiyori defiantly planted himself in the seat to his left. Ikuya took the end. Makoto stepped over Asahi’s legs to take the seat on his right and Haru just stood there until Asahi pulled his knees in and allowed him by. He sat himself on Makoto’s right.

“How many points do they get for making a goal again?”

Asahi huffed. “Hiyori, I swear …”

“Ah,” Makoto said, popping his back straight before they could start. “We should have gone by the concessions first. Did anyone want anything?”

“Takoyaki,” Ikuya said immediately, leaning around the others.

“Two,” Hiyori said, holding up two fingers. He started digging in his pockets for money.

“Yakitori,” Asahi said, slapping his own money into Makoto’s palm. “And some shaved ice.”

“Mackerel.”

Makoto sighed to himself, taking the bills Hiyori offered him. “I don’t think they’ll have any, Haru.”

Haru made a pouting face, which for him meant frowning more than usual and turning his head away. Makoto giggled.

“Come with me and let’s look at the menu, okay?”

The raven-haired swimmer got up with no complaints and he and Makoto disappeared down the other end of the row.

This was how it usually went, in all honesty. They’d almost developed a habit of “forgetting” to get concessions first, because everyone knew Makoto would ask about it and voice no qualms with going to get everything himself. Haru, nine times out of ten, would go with him, depending on how he felt in the moment. And Asahi and Hiyori would spend the time that they were gone arguing about something irrelevant while Ikuya let his eyes roam around, pretending he wasn’t listening even though he occasionally slipped in a comment that typically had something to do with Asahi being an idiot and Hiyori needing to “calm down.” And Hiyori knew that was code for “quit being an ass,” because he never got heated about anything, just used that same weightless tone of voice, while smiling through every point he made, and Asahi just wanted to punch him sometimes.

By the time Makoto and Haru made it back, the teams were running out onto the court.

Asahi blew out a loud whistle once he saw Kisumi bob out of the tunnel and his purple eyes snapped up to find him. He smiled when his eyes locked onto Asahi, and the redhead stuck up a thumb.

“Do your best!” Makoto shouted, offering a wave.

Kisumi flashed his teeth and waved back.

The game in question wasn’t meant to be all that serious. It was one of the last two Kisumi would be playing this season, and just happened to be a fundraiser for Japan’s overall efforts to integrate its own NCAA into college-level sports. The winning team would get a percentage of the profits as funds for their university’s basketball club, so there was plenty of incentive to win. They’d taken four of the best teams from the Intercollegiate Championship back in December to participate in the fundraiser and this was the opening night of an organized three-day weekend, so the arena was impressively packed and the atmosphere lively. Considering that they were in Tokyo, it seemed there was no shortage of basketball fans in the busy city. It was an underrated sport in their country, which gave basketball fans a reason to be twice as passionate about bringing more attention to it.

If Kisumi’s team won tonight, they’d be playing again on Sunday against whatever team won in tomorrow’s game. Asahi wasn’t worried. He’d been attending all of Kisumi’s games since they started college and he had faith in their team — or more specifically, faith in his best friend. The other teams might have had a lot of skill, but they didn’t have a player who beamed his way onto the court with attention-demanding vigor and consistently kept the spirit in his teammates alive.

And so it went tonight, no different than any other game. It was thoroughly entertaining to watch. The other team was a challenge for sure, both sides put up a good fight. Asahi was on his feet for half the game, shouting his face red and coordinating little victory dances with Kisumi whenever he made a clean shot, and there were a lot of them. It was a routine they’d started several months ago, upon realizing Kisumi needed energy to feed off of in order to play at 100%, and no one else’s passion quite compared to Asahi’s. So whenever he shot a three-pointer, or performed a fancy lay-up, or tossed a pass in a complicated play, his glittering eyes would immediately find Asahi and they’d toss their hands in the air and swish their hips in a stupid dance that would have Kisumi laughing as he turned to run back up the court again.

Hiyori hated it … which worked out better for Asahi anyway.

“Why don’t we just get you a t-shirt,” he said, when Asahi reclaimed his seat at the buzzer for halftime.

“Hidaka, fight!!” Asahi shouted, smiling from ear to ear when Kisumi raised a fist over his head, jogging backward off the court. He chuckled. “What about a t-shirt?”

Hiyori had his back slouched, one leg crossed over the other with his elbow on his knee and his chin in his hand. He pushed his glasses up. “A pink one,” he said, turning his eyes on Asahi with a soft smirk. “It’ll say, ‘I’m with Shigino Kisumi’ in bold, obnoxious characters on the front.”

Asahi clicked his tongue as he rolled his eyes away. “You are such a wet blanket.”

“And you said _I_ was embarrassing,” Hiyori remarked, disregarding Asahi’s statement. “You should see yourself during these.” He sat back with a smile. “I’ll record you in the next half.”

“I’m putting in a vote to kick Hiyori out of our group,” Asahi said loudly, throwing up his hand. He turned his head from side to side. “Anyone else?”

Haru stuck his hand up, and Makoto calmly eased it back down.

Hiyori’s smile stretched in that disarming way it did right before he said something either extremely poisonous or straight up dishonest. “But being your friend has been the most life-changing experience I’ve ever encountered, Asahi.”

The redhead squinted at him. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

“He thinks your amusing,” Ikuya said. “He just doesn’t know how to say it nicely.”

Hiyori coughed a light chuckle. “Not in the slightest.”

“And anyway,” Ikuya continued, turning his eyes casually back to the court. “He’s right. You look like a dumb monkey jumping around like that.”

“I told you about the monkey thing!” Asahi said, nearly popping out of his seat. Ikuya and Hiyori snickered. “At least I’m showing team spirit. Somebody has to be enthusiastic over here.”

“Is that what you call it?” Hiyori smiled. “I thought you just wanted everyone to know how crazy you are about Kisumi.”

Asahi flinched back with a cough, ears suddenly burning red. “What the hell are you going on about?” he said — or well, maybe shouted is more accurate.

“Okay,” Makoto spoke up with a nervous giggle. “Maybe we don’t always have to tease each other for a laugh. We can just have a normal conversation instead, right?”

“If you’re in love with him, you can just say so,” Hiyori went on. “You don’t have to prance around like a moron.”

The next moment was a fluster of chaos. Asahi knocked over Hiyori’s soda leaping across the armrest to throttle him. Makoto freaked out and looped his arms under Asahi’s to pull him back from behind while Ikuya kneeled in his seat over Hiyori’s lap and pushed at Asahi’s chest. They were all yelling over each other. Hiyori’s dumbass had the nerve to continue smiling. The group of girls sitting in front of them turned around to whine and complain that they had spilled soda on them, and the people behind them were snickering about it and holding up their phones to catch it all on camera.

“Why are you so mad about it?”

“If you don’t wipe that shit-eating grin off your stupid face!”

“Asahi, please calm down!”

“Stupid Asahi, you’re going to get us kicked out.”

“He fucking started it! I can’t stand you!”

“I was only telling the truth. Geez, I can’t believe you’ve got it this bad.”

“Makoto, let go! I’m gonna kick his ass!”

It took a good couple of minutes for everything to settle down, and that was only because Asahi accidentally head-butted Makoto in the nose, which launched a previously-dormant Haru out of his seat. He took a fistful of Asahi’s shirt, ripped him away from the commotion and forced him to sit down in the seat he’d been occupying. Then he barked at Hiyori for laughing, commanded Makoto to take Asahi’s seat, and sat himself where Makoto had been. Ikuya took it upon himself to switch seats with Hiyori, putting as much possible space between him and Asahi, and there was a long moment of mostly-silence as Makoto apologized to the girls in front of them, Haru glared down the people behind them, and Asahi steamed silently in his new seat with his arms crossed and his knees up to his chest.

He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, feel the heat of the blood very slowly receding from his face as he forced his breathing to calm.

“You didn’t have to act like that,” Haru said shortly, after a while had passed.

Asahi only exhaled, keeping his eyes forward, because he was well aware. And he had no excuse for why he did. He was all ready to blame it on Hiyori’s arrogant mouth and that smug little grin. This wasn’t the first time the others had had to pull them apart before a fight could brew. It wasn’t the second time either, or the third. And Asahi was always the one eager to initiate it. Hiyori was all talk, and they all knew that, but Asahi also wasn’t afraid to give him a good whop. Somebody needed to, one of these days, or else the redhead was really going to go ham on him.

“Asahi, are you alright?” Makoto said, lifting his chin a bit to peek over Haru’s head.

“Yeah,” Asahi said, finally sighing and stretching out to fold his hands behind his head. He looked over at the brunet, whose nose was a bit red — not bleeding, just flushed with color where Asahi’s rock-solid head had checked it. Haru noticed too and brushed the bridge of his nose gently with his thumb then shot a glare over his shoulder.

Asahi sighed again. “Sorry, Makoto. Are _you_ alright?”

Makoto chuckled airily. “I’m fine.” He took Haru’s wrist, easing his hand away, and lifted a reassuring smile. “I wish you two would get along though,” he added, switching his gaze from Asahi to Hiyori, who had the gall to look as though he was innocent.

“Asahi,” Makoto continued. “Hiyori wasn’t trying to be mean. He was just teasing you. Hiyori, Asahi’s very … um, passionate, and responds much better to encouragement. Let’s maybe not poke at him so much.”

“I was only —”

Hiyori’s charade got cut off by the elbow Ikuya jabbed into his ribs. He rolled his eyes behind his glasses, then adjusted them on the bridge of his nose and sighed.

“Sorry, Asahi.”

Asahi pinched his lips, eyes squinting down the line at the other, and not at all oblivious to the rest of them watching him expectantly.

“Fine,” he burst finally. “It’s whatever. Sorry for trying to kill you.”

Hiyori huffed half a laugh. “Is that what you were doing?”

“Well I wasn’t trying to snuggle with you, if that’s what you thought was happening.”

Hiyori really looked like he wanted to make a comment, but he smiled instead and said nothing. Asahi shook his head and turned his eyes away.

Makoto exhaled a breath of relief. “Very good, you guys. Let’s all just relax and enjoy the rest of the game, okay?”

Nobody responded, and they all rejected Makoto’s offer to go get more food. Whatever had been going on on the court during halftime ended, and the teams jogged back onto the court a few minutes later. Asahi didn’t jump out of his seat the second half of the game, but he did watch that pink head of hair the whole time.


	8. Chapter 8

He’d been accused before, of being in love with Kisumi. And maybe that was part of the reason why he’d been so adamant in the beginning about telling everybody that he, in fact, hated the bubbly sweet kid in his class. He’d known it was just teasing. He had always known it was just teasing — that “all in good fun” kind of stuff. And he did it to himself really. They only poked at him about it because he reacted so passionately to everything Kisumi did. And in all actuality, the more fervently he responded, the more people giggled and questioned his motives.

But he really did hate Kisumi that first year of middle school. And looking back on it in hindsight, maybe that was less because of Kisumi’s personality and more because Asahi vehemently didn’t _want_ to like him. In truth, he’d always felt like he was resisting something when Kisumi was around, like he was pushing back on a heavy set of doors that threatened to burst open. He’d never wanted to know what was behind them, he just knew it would be smarter, safer to keep them closed. And it was irritating to him, because he only felt that way around Kisumi.

He had never been able to relax around him until he accepted Kisumi as a presence in his life, but also, those doors increased their pressure after that and became heavier with time. He’d gotten used to resisting, building his strength against it as the time went on, and now it was more or less second nature to him. But, if he felt that pressure coming on too strong, he did become what some might call sensitive and was likely to lash out for whatever petty reason made itself present first. And maybe that was why he still reacted so strongly to Kisumi in general, and why he felt the need to strangle Hiyori for unearthing childhood memories of those times.

Ever since they’d started college, those doors had managed to crack open just a little bit and he hadn’t been able to completely shut them back since, and they were letting out a fog. Something thick, and humid, and suffocating that made him feel all kinds of things he didn’t want to. But, it was also a comfortable temperature, if he was going to be honest, and there was a light behind it that was tempting to look at. Sometimes, he didn’t entirely resist the doors. Sometimes he just stood in their way, blocking them from swinging open any further, but without putting forth any effort to close them either. And he just appreciated the breezy draft coming in and weaving through his hair.

That was the best way to describe it, because, for most of his relationship with Kisumi, he didn’t have any words. He didn’t know what to call it. He wasn’t sure why it was different or why it was there. It just existed, and he got used to it enough to ignore it most of the time … until the moment in which Hiyori had decided to bring it up again.

* * *

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, it’s fine. You’re just going to sit in a corner by yourself if he’s not there, so you might as well bring him.”

Ikuya’s scoff was soft on the other end of the line. “You guys don’t let me sit in corners by myself.”

Asahi smiled, watching his reflection as he tried to comb his hair the right way. “That’s true.”

“Normally, I’d tell you to get over yourself. But seeing as it’s _your_ birthday, I’d rather not be held responsible for whatever comes out of Hiyori’s mouth. He’ll be alright for one night on his own.”

Asahi sighed. Would he have preferred to leave Hiyori out of the mix? Yes. Had they technically made up and gotten past their tiff at the game over the past month? Yes. Would it have been petty to let Ikuya leave Hiyori at home? Yes. Would Makoto and Kisumi also have something to say about it? Probably.

“Ikuya,” he said, holding his shoulders straight. “Hiyori is allowed to come. I wouldn’t exactly be upset if he spontaneously couldn’t make it, but punk-ass Kisumi already invited him, so it’s fine. Just bring him.”

“Alright,” Ikuya said dubiously. “If you try to fight him again, it’s on you.”

“Understood.”

“We’ll see you in an hour then.”

“Bye.”

He set his phone down on the edge of the sink and stuck his tongue out of the side of his mouth as he focused all of his attention on his cowlick. The entirety of his life, he’d been wrestling with his hair, and it still refused to cooperate.

“Asahiii!”

A fist banged on his door to accompany Kisumi’s muffled voice all of a sudden. Asahi ignored it for a handful of seconds, tuning out the noise in the background until he heard his neighbor shouting in complaint. He turned away from the mirror, leaving his eyes on his reflection until the last possible moment, left the bathroom, and then swung the door open.

“Why are you so obnoxious?”

Kisumi beamed and thrust a gift bag out in front of him. “Happy birthday!”

Asahi grinned and took the bag from him, side-stepping out of the way to let Kisumi into his dorm. “You’re giving this to me now?”

“Yes. I want you to wear it tonight,” Kisumi said, plopping down on his bed. He crossed his legs, back straight with anticipation.

“Wear it?” Asahi said, raising an eyebrow at him, just in that moment taking in Kisumi’s own outfit.

In general, he was a pretty stylish guy, but he seemed to have put just a little something extra into his efforts tonight. He was wearing a lavender button-up with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, left unbuttoned over a grey undershirt, with a pair of nicely-fitted, dark blue jeans and suede Chelsea boots. Around his neck hung a silver necklace with a small anchor pendant resting against his chest.

Asahi pursed his lips to cover up his hesitation. “Well, don’t you look nice.”

Kisumi smiled and glanced down as though he hadn’t noticed. “Oh really?” He made a show of tossing his hair back and shrugging his shoulders. “Thank you.” He waved a hand. “It’s nothing.”

Asahi rolled his eyes, shaking his head to himself with a smirk. “So modest,” he mumbled, tossing the tissue paper out of the gift bag.

He could feel Kisumi leaning forward with excitement as Asahi reached in and pulled out a black bomber jacket. The inside was lined with cushy, royal red nylon. The sleeves were embroidered with a fluid gold pattern down each side, and on the back between the shoulder blades was a circle with a trident in the middle, dripping more gold from the bottom rim.

Asahi held it up in front of him for a long while in silence, acknowledging all the little details but also hiding his face for a moment, because he didn’t want Kisumi to see him struggling to contain whatever it was that this gift made him feel. It was only when he felt like he had a mild sense of control that he peeked over the jacket at his friend, whose bright eyes were shining with enthusiasm, and it was this that allowed Asahi to let go of a stretching smile. Kisumi could hardly sit still.

“Do you like it?” he said, knowing the answer already, because he was grinning from ear to ear.

“Kisumi, what the fuck is this?”

“You love it,” he exclaimed, his everything sparkling now.

Asahi chuckled and stretched out a beckoning hand. “Come here.”

Kisumi leapt off of the bed back across the room and Asahi pulled him into a tight, one-armed hug. They both giggled, and Asahi left his arm around Kisumi’s shoulders as they broke apart to admire the jacket together.

“This is fucking sick.”

“Hee hee, I knew you’d like it. It totally screams water god, does it not? Try it on!”

Asahi pulled his arm away and slipped the jacket on over his shoulders, allowing his fingers to slide over the silky texture. “Jesus, it’s comfortable too.”

Kisumi sighed dreamily. “It fits perfectly. Asahi, you look so good,” he said, touching the edges of the jacket, eyes roaming Asahi’s entire figure.

A thrilling little chill raced down Asahi’s spine as he watched Kisumi’s eyes, saw the admiration twinkling in them. He found himself smiling some more. “Yeah?”

“Absolutely. You’re so handsome.” He looked up to meet Asahi’s gaze, everything about his expression intricate and intentional. “But I could say that without the jacket too.”

A rush of heat flooded Asahi’s cheeks and he suddenly couldn’t swallow anymore. He coughed and turned away to look for his wallet. “Ah. You’re gonna make me blush,” he said, half-joking. He was already blushing.

“But Asahi’s so cute when he’s blushing.”

“Alright, shut up, that’s enough,” he snapped, but it came out softer than it normally would. “I told you about the cute thing.”

Kisumi giggled. “I don’t understand why you have such a problem with that word. And I think it’s truly sexist of you to claim that men can’t be cute.”

Asahi feigned a groan as he tossed loose articles of clothing around, shuffled through drawers, and stripped his bed. “Men can be cute,” he said. “ _I_ don’t want to be cute.”

“Why not?”

“Because it makes me feel like a child or something. Gods — every fucking time.”

“What pants were you wearing yesterday?”

Asahi mumbled under his breath and dug the pair of jeans he’d worn the day before out of his hamper. A quick inspection of his back left pocket revealed he had indeed left his wallet there. He took it out and gave his wrist a flick to show Kisumi, then stuffed it in his new pocket.

“You’re welcome,” Kisumi sang.

“Shut up.”

“One day you’re going to end up washing that thing by accident.”

“You’re riding the line, smartass.” He glanced over his shoulder at the time and swiped his room key up as he headed for the door. “We need to go if we’re gonna get those other two yahoos.”

Asahi opened the door and Kisumi waltz out ahead of him with a dignified smile, chin in the air. Asahi kicked him in the butt, and Kisumi giggled, skipping forward with his hands covering his ass.

“Don’t be such a snot.”

Asahi locked the door, and Kisumi beamed a smile at him as they made their way down the hall. “I think you enjoy it.”

“Enjoy what?”

“Flirting with me.”

Asahi choked on another cough. “ _Flirting?_ Who said I was flirting? You’re annoying, and I act accordingly. No one’s flirting but you, ho.”

“Gasp!” Kisumi dramatically pressed a hand to his chest. “That’s a little below the belt, Asahi.”

“That’s what you get.”

Kisumi giggled. “You’re such a sport.” He curled his arm through Asahi’s as they exited the building and started for Kisumi’s car. “So, now that you’re twenty, you’ll buy me a drink, right?”

Asahi scoffed, hands in his pockets. “You’re still nineteen, stupid.”

“Yes, Asahi, that’s why I need you to buy it.”

“It’s my birthday. You should be buying me drinks.”

Kisumi stuck out a pouting lip. “But I’m not old enough. I would buy you all the drinks you wanted if I could.”

“Then give me the money and I’ll do the ordering.”

“As long as you get one for me.”

“You’re still underage. Also, we need a driver.”

“Haru can drive. He said he wouldn’t mind.”

“It’s your car.”

Kisumi whined, pulling on Asahi’s arm. “You’re no fun.”

“It’s my birthday. I can and will do whatever I want to.”

Kisumi’s phone went off then, just as they made it to the car. He dug it out of his pocket and put it to his ear. “Hey, Makoto!”

Asahi rolled his eyes at the extra lift in his voice and let himself into the passenger’s seat.

“Yeah, we’re on our way now,” Kisumi said, sliding into the driver’s side and starting the car. “You are? Yeah, that’s fine … No, it’s no problem. Need us to swing by your place?”

Kisumi looked over his shoulder and eased smoothly out of the parking spot with one hand. “Yeah. Okay … We’ll see you soon then. Bye bye!”

“What’s up?” Asahi asked as soon as he hung up.

“Makoto stayed late after work today, so we’re picking him up from there.”

“What about Haru?”

“He’s already with him. Makoto asked him to go by his place to get his stuff.”

“Mm,” Asahi grunted, gazing out the window. “I can still hear it in your voice, you know.”

“Hear what?”

“‘Hey, Makoto!’” He mimicked, shimmying his shoulders with a dumb smile to imitate Kisumi’s fawning ego.

Kisumi swatted at him. “Stop it. I do not sound like that.”

“Oh, Makoto,” Asahi went on, his voice twice as high and lacy as normal. “Your _backstroke_ is so attractive. You have such strong, manly arms. I know you’re helplessly in love with Haru, but I was just wondering if you’d be my daddy.” Asahi dropped his head to the side with a raised brow and a smug grin.

Kisumi was laughing. “Oh my god, I would never.”

“Literally doesn’t even have to come out of your mouth. Your tone says it all.”

Kisumi chuckled as he took a right turn. “It’s not meant to be. I get it. You don’t have to worry, Asahi.”

Asahi furrowed his brow. “No one said I was worried.”

“Well, you’ve certainly got a lot to say about it, don’t you?”

Asahi scoffed and turned his eyes back to the front. “Just shut up and drive.”

Kisumi’s smile stretched, but he said nothing more about it. They continued their bantering about other things on the way to get Haru and Makoto, and then the conversation shifted once the other two were in the backseat. Makoto wished Asahi a happy birthday on his and Haru’s behalf and presented him with a gift from the both of them, which consisted of a whistle, a stopwatch, and a t-shirt that said, “I am the Coach” on the front, and “You listen to me” on the back. That masterpiece had apparently been Haru’s idea, and Asahi cracked up about it for a good five minutes, sure to rub it under Kisumi’s nose so that he wouldn’t forget the honesty of such poetic words.

It took them about twenty minutes to get to their first location downtown, where they met up with Ikuya and Hiyori. Their gift to Asahi was to pay for everything, and Hiyori pointedly mentioned that Natsuya and Nao had insisted Asahi know they’d chipped in too.

Asahi had opted for indoor go-karting. Upon coming up with a plan a few weeks ago, Kisumi had asked why he didn’t want to do a go-karting tour around the city — “It would be so cute” — and Asahi had just given him a deadpan glance in silence. He wanted to race, was the answer, not be toted around at a leisurely forty miles per hour, looking up at the same buildings he saw every day. That was for tourists. The best birthday present his friends could give him was the opportunity to whoop their butts in a high-speed battle of the fittest. And it was priceless.

The experience was loud, chaotic, smelled like rubber and victory, and Asahi laughed his way through the whole thing. He savored every lap that he got off of Hiyori, sure to scrape by him as closely as possible and flip him off as he drifted by. Makoto drove so slow he got flagged multiple times for being a hazard, to which he panicked even more and shouted out several apologizes that no one could hear. The race in question was mostly between Asahi, Haru, and Kisumi, who all consistently inched between first, second and third place, while Ikuya just enjoyed the ride.

Asahi had known Kisumi was going to be a pain in the butt, as he was the only one of them that drove on a regular basis, and he tried not to be impressed whenever he thought he had the lead only for Kisumi to catch him on a bend and shoot past with a smooth drift. They were wearing helmets, so Asahi couldn’t see his face, but he knew somewhere underneath there, Kisumi stuck his tongue out at him several times.

Haru was the one that was surprisingly hard to shake. He kept hardly two feet from Asahi at all times, weaving nearly parallel to every move he made, and Haru was irritatingly cool about it all the while. Where Asahi did a lot of hooping and hollering, and Kisumi’s laugh just barely made it above the roar of several engines, Haru remained silent, driving just about as effortlessly and freely as he swam. Asahi cursed him a lot under his breath, but it was exciting, and he was glad to have the competition. Had he been stuck with just Makoto and Hiyori, for example, he would have been bored to tears. Though, he did nearly bust a gut laughing when Hiyori spun out of control so slowly it was comical. His bumper hit a wall, and he got stuck turned around in a corner. By the time one of the attendants guided him free, Asahi, Haru, and Kisumi had passed him another three times.

Kisumi won the first race. And Asahi wasn’t going to have that, so he demanded that they go again. Makoto bowed out with shaking limbs, declaring he would never participate in anything so reckless ever again. Ikuya claimed that he had gotten his fill, and Hiyori followed him off the track. Which left the other three plenty of room to destroy each other. They went head to head in two more races as the others watched from the sidelines. Asahi pulled a clean win out of the second race, and Haru just managed to scrape into first place on the third. Though, from their point of view, it was a debatable win, regardless of what the times said, so they went back and forth about it all the way to their next destination, which was a rooftop bar with a view of the skyline that Kisumi had picked out.

Makoto was much more relaxed in this setting, cozying up against Haru on one side of the table, staring out at the view or else glancing at the flickering candle piece in the middle of the table. Ikuya also seemed particularly at ease, and after sipping on a beer for a little while, he started joining conversations and smiling more than usual. A couple of drinks in, and Asahi was quite unbothered about carrying out a light-hearted conversation with Hiyori about true crime, which they might not have gotten away with if Makoto wasn’t also working his way through a beer. Haru spent most of the time with his cheek on Makoto’s shoulder, just listening in with a blank but pacified gaze, taking small sips from Makoto’s glass whenever he offered to share. Kisumi took full advantage of his pleasant and charming demeanor to convince the bartender to service him too. It hadn’t been all that hard, but, as it turned out, Kisumi was a lightweight and became extremely giggly when he was tipsy. He was also very restless, which ended up working out, because the bar happened to have live music playing that night, so plenty of people were casually getting up to dance in the open spaces around their tables and Kisumi was one of them.

Hiyori and Ikuya couldn’t stop giggling about it, and Ikuya took several videos. Makoto repeatedly remarked that Kisumi was “such a graceful dancer.” Asahi watched Kisumi turn in circles for a good long while with his cheek in his palm and a soft grin on his lips.

Kisumi _was_ a graceful dancer. It was nice to watch him. He was clearly out of it, but he also very much kept up the illusion that he knew what he was doing, and maybe that had everything to do with him being intoxicated. And maybe the several empty glasses of what-had-once-been sake in front of Asahi had everything to do with how warm he felt staring at Kisumi and admiring his carefree smile. It was a relatively cool night, kind of chilly, but comfortable enough with the alcohol in their systems, and his chest was warm.

He didn’t know how long he sat there like that, watching Kisumi like he was sitting in a dream, but his mesmerizing best friend eventually turned around and reached out a hand that Asahi had zero reservations about taking. It wasn’t a thought that crossed his mind. He wasn’t even sure if his body and his brain were still in sync at this point. His hand just placed itself in Kisumi’s as though he’d been waiting for the offer, and he stood without hesitation, allowing Kisumi’s tugging fingers to pull him into a rhythm.

In the back of his mind somewhere, he heard Ikuya giggling even harder and Hiyori whistling his approval. He even heard Makoto sigh out a cooing noise, and say something like, “how nice.”

And it was nice. Asahi was nowhere near as graceful as Kisumi, but his general confidence made every move look intentional, so they worked well together. He was fond of dancing. He always had been, and it was a drag sometimes, being part of a group of people who mostly refused to participate in things like this. Makoto was much too timid. Haru didn’t have a lick of interest in it. Ikuya had once claimed that he hated dancing, and Hiyori was never going to do anything that Ikuya didn’t do. Kisumi was the only person who shared Asahi’s affinity for letting loose. The others were all too stiff. And right now, that didn’t bother him a single bit.

The genre was fusion jazz, a great combination between poppy and mellow. Asahi and Kisumi’s hands remained linked, but they matched one another’s rhythm at arm’s length for a while, watching each other show off just a little bit while laughing about it. And, Asahi didn’t notice it, but the longer they spent moving around like that, the more he tuned out everything else around them, not necessarily on purpose, but he was slowly sliding into a space of comfort that gradually drew him and Kisumi closer until, somewhere in the midst of the third song, Kisumi was suddenly right in front of him, so close that their foreheads were nearly touching. And Kisumi’s response, once their gazes locked, was to smile.

“Where’d you learn how to dance, mister?” he said, still rocking and swaying with all the certainty in the world.

Asahi cocked a grin and held his arm up for Kisumi to spin underneath, but he didn’t do a full 360. Instead, he turned on the ball of his foot and leaned his back into Asahi’s chest. Asahi’s eyes trailed the length of his neck.

“I happen to be naturally gifted at like a _ton_ of things,” he said, keeping pace with Kisumi’s movements.

The corner of Kisumi’s lips lifted and he peered to the side. “Really now?”

“Surprised? I thought you knew me by now.”

“Oh, yes you’re right,” he giggled. Asahi’s free hand found itself on his waist. “Sorry, of course. Asahi is a god walking among mere mortals. How blasphemous of me to forget. Of course you’d be naturally gifted at everything you do.”

“Yes, thank you,” Asahi said with a slow head nod. “Where’s the respect?”

“Forgive me, mighty Asahi,” Kisumi said, tossing his hands up to the new groove with his eyes closed, a smile still gracing his cheeks. “It was never my intention to besmirch your name with mediocre assumptions. Teach me your ways.”

“Mmm …” He hummed, as though thinking about it. His palm dragged itself around to Kisumi’s abdomen, fingers lightly scanning the texture of his shirt. He didn’t recall telling the muscles in his arm to pull the other closer. Maybe Kisumi moved on his own. Maybe it was just subconscious thought and really neither of them were aware, but a stomach-dropping chill passed through Asahi like a quick breeze when his hips automatically lined themselves with Kisumi’s from behind.

That warmth that had already been there in his chest spread out like an engulfing fog, and yet he shivered, and his nose automatically dropped closer, just barely brushing Kisumi’s jaw. Kisumi’s fingers slid between his, and his other hand dropped back, fingers brushing through Asahi’s hair.

“Are you sure you’re not flirting with me?” Kisumi said, but his voice was so light it was picked up by the wind, and Asahi wasn’t sure he even heard.

He meant to respond, but all that came out was a soft sigh. Kisumi’s body shifted against his at just the right angle and his heart fluttered, the hand over Kisumi’s stomach clenching just a little as his own stomach flipped again. Something very far in the back of his mind tried to get his attention, but he felt like he was floating, body moving without prompting, still keeping an even swaying rhythm with the boy in front of him, and not really wanting to stop. It was more like a dream than when he’d just been sitting there watching.

Something started to drift away from him and he wasn’t sure what it was, wasn’t bothered by its departure either, because he felt much freer without it, and Kisumi’s fingers sliding through his hair felt so good. And Kisumi smelled so good. And his body leaning and gently grinding up against Asahi’s was _so_ good.

But then, all too soon, Kisumi spun back around. Though, when he did, their foreheads were touching this time, and Kisumi smiled again. His hands dipped through the opening in Asahi’s jacket and pressed themselves just under his ribs. Asahi’s palms automatically ran up to his shoulders as Kisumi leaned around and brushed his lips against his ear.

“Thanks for dancing with me,” he said, the sultry tenor of his voice curling its way all the way down Asahi’s back and forcing him to exhale the sudden excitement out of his chest.

The music died off then, as though on cue — or else Kisumi had a knack for timing things perfectly. They stopped dancing, and Kisumi backed away to clap his hands just as everyone around them did, showing their appreciation for the musicians across the rooftop. Those purple eyes lingered on Asahi for a moment with a wise smile, before he turned them away to actually give his attention to the band. Asahi just watched him in a stupor, suddenly unsure how to move. But, as Kisumi turned back toward their table, he casually brushed a hand over Asahi’s wrist and that seemed to snap him out of it.

They rejoined their group, only to find them all gaping at them. Makoto’s ears were bright red.

“They’re great, aren’t they?” Kisumi said frivolously as he gestured toward the band, either choosing to ignore the looks he was getting, or just not noticing them at all. He picked up a random shot glass that no one had touched and tossed it back, then he chased it with the remainder of his own drink he hadn’t yet managed to finish.

Ikuya was the first to blink himself back into the moment, and he made a dubious face. “I think you guys have had enough to drink,” he said.

Kisumi giggled. “What? I feel fine.” Just as he waved a flippant hand for emphasis, he rocked his weight too far back on his heels and fell backward. Asahi dove forward to catch him, but not before Kisumi’s hand could knock another glass off the table. He plopped on his butt with Asahi holding him under his arms, and busted out laughing the moment the glass shattered on the ground next to him.

“Jesus Christ,” Ikuya mumbled, standing to help Asahi get their drunken friend to his feet. “Haru,” he called out. “Kisumi’s drunk as fuck. You’re gonna have to drive.”

“Oh my god,” Kisumi said breathlessly, wiping joyous tears from his eyes. “I’m fine. I swear. It’s cold as shit out here.”

All the others were already getting up from the table. Makoto went to find a waitress to inform about their mess, though there was hardly a need, as they were drawing plenty of attention to themselves at this point, especially with Kisumi’s nonstop giggling.

Hiyori took the initiative of cleaning up some of the broken glass as Ikuya and Asahi carefully moved Kisumi away from it and sat him down on the end of the bench.

“I’ll bring the car around,” Haru said, holding a hand out for the keys.

“Aww,” Kisumi whined, looking up between them with a frown. “Are we leaving already? We were having so much fun.”

“I think you’re having a little too much fun,” Ikuya said, patting Kisumi down until he found the right pocket to stick his hand into.

“Oo! Ikuya,” Kisumi gasped, giggling again. “If you wanted to play around, you could’ve just said so, my dear.”

“Yeah right.” Ikuya huffed half a laugh and swatted Kisumi’s hands away when he reached up with grabbing fingers. Kisumi giggled even more, his eyes glittering as Ikuya turned away to hand Haru the keys and then round the table to gather all of their stuff.

“Asahi,” Kisumi said, grabbing Asahi’s hand and pulling him close. “The band’s still playing, let’s dance some more.”

“Kisumi,” Asahi responded with an amused smile, shrugging off his jacket, because Kisumi’s teeth were chattering. “I don’t know how you were on your feet for as long as you were.”

“I love dancing,” Kisumi said idly as Asahi draped his jacket around his shoulders and guided his arms into the sleeves.

“I know.”

Kisumi kept on giggling, and Asahi really wanted to just sit next to him and laugh too. He wasn’t exactly in his own right mind at the moment, but Kisumi’s drunken antics were keeping him cognizant enough, as he felt the sudden need to make sure his friend stayed upright and warm and didn’t cut himself on any broken glass by trying to get up again.

“It was so much fun, wasn’t it? Didn’t you like dancing? You’re so good at it, Asahi.”

“Yes. You’re good at it too.”

“Really? You think so? I try,” he said, flipping his hair with a shrug. Asahi chuckled and Kisumi grabbed his hand again. “Will you dance with me again?”

“Not right now. I think we’re leaving.”

“Really?” Kisumi looked around as though they hadn’t already discussed this. “What a bunch of party poopers. They never like to dance. Let’s go to a club!”

“You’ve had enough, Kisumi,” Ikuya said, reaching out to drop Asahi’s phone into his hand.

“Says you,” Kisumi mumbled.

At this point, Makoto came back with a waitress, who was carrying a broom and dustpan. He apologized to her the whole way back to the table, and she shook her head with a kind smile, assuring him that it happened all the time. Kisumi tried to strike up a conversation with her by asking if she knew who LeBron James was, but Makoto said Haru just sent him a text that he was pulling out of the parking garage and they needed to hurry up. Hiyori and Ikuya lingered just a moment longer to pay for the bill, while Makoto shuffled Asahi forward, who kept his hands on Kisumi’s shoulders.

Kisumi waved goodbye to everyone they passed, and they had to drag him away from the band when he insisted on stopping to tell them how amazing they were. And they very nearly were unsuccessful, until Hiyori showed up and pushed Kisumi along much more urgently than Asahi did.

“Makoto,” Kisumi whispered, turning his head back over his shoulder once they were waiting for the elevator. Makoto raised an attentive eyebrow at him. “That girl who works here thinks you’re hot. I saw it in her eyes just now.”

Makoto chuckled, eyes bright with the kind of admiration a parent might look at their child with after they do something adorably naïve. “Okay, Kisumi. Thank you.”

Kisumi nodded. “You’re welcome. Also, I think you’re hot, but I never told you, cuz I’m too shy.”

Makoto made a noise in his throat, cheeks turning red. Asahi wrinkled his nose and raised a hand to pop Kisumi in the back of the head, but just ended up grabbing him by the gruff of his neck instead and pulling him close to his side.

“Oi! Don’t just casually say stuff like that.”

Kisumi smiled, sliding an arm around Asahi’s waist. “I think you’re hot too, Asa-chan. I think you’re all beautiful!” he shouted, throwing up his free hand.

Everyone shushed him.

“Kisumi,” Makoto giggled. “We’re inside.”

“Oh,” Kisumi whispered. “Are we leaving?” he asked, watching the elevator doors open in front of them.

“Yes, let’s go,” Makoto said, gently ushering them over the threshold. 

Ikuya ran to catch up with them just before the doors closed, and they spent the ride down shushing Kisumi some more and trying to get him to stop jumping because it was freaking Makoto out. And hardly twenty seconds after they stepped off the elevator, Kisumi missed the step leading down into the lobby and Asahi had to catch him again. His laughter bubbled throughout the whole room, and many people turned their heads.

“I can walk, I can walk!” Kisumi insisted through his giggles, tears running down his cheeks now as he waved a hand at them.

“I swear it’s getting worse, no?” Hiyori said, recording the scene with his phone as Asahi, Makoto and Ikuya all tried to get Kisumi to his feet, but he was lost in a laughing fit so deep, his knees wouldn’t work.

“I h-have to pee!”

“Christ,” Ikuya sighed. “Just carry him, we’re almost there,” he said to Makoto.

“No!” Asahi shouted, nearly tripping over his friend as he threw an arm out to stop Makoto from picking Kisumi up. “I got him.”

He crouched low and pulled Kisumi’s arms over his shoulders, hiking him up onto his back.

“Are you sure?” Makoto said, hand hovering close as though ready to catch them both as Asahi wavered for a second.

“Yes, I’m sure. I got him.” He adjusted Kisumi’s weight on his back and waited until his legs felt solid underneath him before he started forward, tucking his arms under Kisumi’s thighs.

“Asahi’s so sweet,” Kisumi cooed, hugging his neck from behind and nuzzling his face into his hair. “Wouldn’t it be nice to be carried by Makoto though? I bet you’re super strong,” he said, cheesing at the brunet in question, who seemed very undecided about how to respond.

Asahi jostled the boy on his back. “Shut up, you’re drunk.”

“You’re drunk,” was Kisumi’s rebuttal. His limbs squeezed Asahi tightly. “You drank more than I did.”

“He’s better at holding his liquor, apparently,” Ikuya said, pushing the door open so that Asahi could step out of the building hands-free.

Kisumi gasped as though he was offended. “What’s that supposed to mean? Hey look, my car!”

Makoto stayed close behind Asahi and his bundle to make sure neither of them met the pavement as they waited for Ikuya and Hiyori to slide into the backseat, and then had a brief debate about what to do regarding the limited space. In the end, Asahi was squished between Ikuya and the left-side door and Kisumi was curled up comfortably on his lap. He let his arms absently hold Kisumi around the middle as Kisumi pulled his knees up and nuzzled his face into Asahi’s neck, fingers gripping the front of his shirt. Hiyori leaned around Ikuya with a smirk and took a picture. Makoto turned around in the passenger’s seat once he was in and analyzed the four of them as though checking they were all present and buckled in.

“Where am I going?” Haru said, already pulling out into traffic.

“Just drop me and Hiyori off at the train station,” Ikuya said.

“No!” Kisumi shouted, suddenly popping up and making everybody flinch.

“Inside voice, Kisumi,” Makoto said with a finger to his lips. “Inside voice.”

“Marron! We have to go to the café. Akane-san said come by the café. There’s cake.”

“It’s nearly one o’clock in the morning,” Ikuya said.

“Cake!” Kisumi shouted, leaning over the center console to yank on Haru’s sleeve. They all shouted at him for messing with the driver, and Asahi pulled him back, forcing him to lean back against his chest. “It’s still Asahi’s birthday until we have cake. Go to Marron!”

Haru huffed out a breath and switched lanes to take the next left toward the café. No one complained. Hiyori giggled and took more pictures.

“It’s like having a child.”

“You wanna keep him?” Ikuya said, raising a brow at him.

“Absolutely not. Makoto’s the best with kids. Makoto, would you like to keep Kisumi?”

Makoto chuckled, sitting with his shoulder against the back of the seat, peeking over the headrest. “I don’t think Haru would let me. Haru, would you let me keep Kisumi?”

“No. Just get a cat, they’re better.”

“Heeey,” Kisumi whined, fingers poking and massaging the back of Asahi’s hand. He popped out his bottom lip. “Haru, why don’t you like me?”

“I don’t _dis_ like you,” Haru said tonelessly.

“Liar,” Ikuya coughed, thumping a fist against his chest. Hiyori giggled.

“Haru just doesn’t know how to tell you he likes you,” Asahi rambled, patting Kisumi’s shoulder when he burrowed close.

“Sure,” Ikuya said. “Go with that.”

“Haru likes everybody,” Makoto said sweetly over the seat, his tone consoling. “He just isn’t great at expressing it.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch,” Haru mumbled under his breath.

“You like all your friends then.”

“Mm.”

“Why are we your friends, if you don’t like us?” Hiyori said, lifting his chin in Haru’s direction.

“I don’t pick my friends. You guys all just latch onto me. It’s annoying.”

“Oi,” Ikuya mumbled. “You don’t have enough alcohol in your system to be that honest.”

Haru just shrugged.

“Haru likes his friends,” Makoto said, gazing at the side of his face with a gentle smile. “But he likes his space too. I think sometimes he just doesn’t know which one he’d rather have in the moment. Right?”

Haru pursed his lips stubbornly and Makoto chuckled. He pinched Haru’s cheek tenderly, until Haru pushed his wrist away and held his hand in his lap. He said nothing.

“Who’s going to keep me then?” Kisumi said, still pouting.

“I think Asahi wants to keep you, Kisumi,” Ikuya said, turning a grin to his left.

Asahi lifted a hand and pushed his face away. Ikuya snickered.

Kisumi tilted his chin up, his face so close Asahi could feel the warmth of his breath on his cheek. “You’ll keep me, Asa-chan?”

“Yeah,” Asahi mumbled, petting Kisumi’s head. “I’ll keep you.”

“Okay,” Kisumi said, satisfied. He let out a giant yawn and shifted to rest his head on Asahi’s shoulder, then threw his legs across Ikuya and Hiyori’s laps.

“Oi,” Ikuya complained.

They both pushed his legs away several times, but he kept putting them back, and eventually they gave up. The rest of the ride was mostly quiet. Makoto talked to Haru, their voices muffled within their own space up front, while Hiyori and Ikuya snickered with their heads together, comparing videos they’d taken on their phones. Kisumi passed out within five minutes, and Asahi cuddled him like a teddy bear.

At first it was absentminded. He mostly felt like he was sidelining a dream still, and so didn’t much concern himself with all the little details of what was happening. He simply acknowledged to himself that he was enjoying Kisumi’s closeness. He had no room to move, but he was surprisingly comfortable underneath his friend’s weight. And his hair was soft. Asahi had gone from petting Kisumi’s head like a dog, to soothingly sliding his fingers through his hair and rubbing his scalp, and he was sure this was what had put Kisumi to sleep.

The slow deep exhales against his neck sent pleasant clouds of warmth through his shoulders and down his back, and inch by inch, it seemed, he became a little more cognizant of the details, actually thought about them, rather than just noticing them. It didn’t change anything for a good while, but by the time Haru pulled up to the curb across the street from the café, Asahi felt a sudden chill rush down his spine, as though he was just waking up and realizing that that dream had been a good one, and he kind of wanted to go back to sleep.

But Kisumi was pulled off of his lap, so he let it be and just quietly mourned the loss of warmth. It was definitively cold now, and he was no longer wearing his jacket. Kisumi was. And even though he’d only had the thing for one night, there was something secretly pleasant about watching a sleepy Kisumi rub at his face with the cuff of his sleeve.

Asahi didn’t argue this time when Makoto voluntarily cradled Kisumi in his arms and walked across the street with him. He didn’t argue, but there was something itchy about watching Kisumi’s head drop onto Makoto’s shoulder, about only being able to see the top of his pink hair over Makoto’s broad back. And it was probably the same kind of itchy Haru felt, because he made a face very similar to the one Asahi wanted to make, and Makoto met it with a simple smile.

“You’ll be alright.”

“Just wake him up. He can walk.”

“He’s tired, Haru. And he hasn’t been the most stable on his feet since that last shot.”

“That’s his own fault. And he’s the one who wanted to come here so badly in the first place.”

“Would it really hurt you to be at least a little bit warmer toward him?”

Haru wrinkled his nose and turned his face away, lengthening his stride to get to the door first. “You’re not carrying him home.”

“Of course, Haru-chan,” Makoto said submissively, still smiling.

As callous as he was acting, Haru still held the door open for Makoto to lead the way inside the café, which was as warmly lit as ever, even despite it being the middle of the night. There was indeed a cake sitting atop the bar, and balloons and more presents, and Akane and Kon both lifted their heads with wide smiles as the boys trundled in.

Akane immediately giggled. “Kisumi-kun wasn’t supposed to be the one drinking too much.”

“It just went straight to his bloodstream, I think,” Ikuya said, immediately pulling out a chair to plop down at their usual table. Makoto set Kisumi down carefully on the opposite side, and Kisumi immediately drooped over and pressed his cheek against the table with a tired moan.

“Happy birthday, otouto,” Akane said, walking over to meet Asahi with a firm hug. She hummed and nuzzled her cheek against him. “I can’t believe you’re an actual adult now. Are you going to start acting like one?”

Asahi tsked, whining his resentment. “What do you mean? I always act like an adult. My age just happened to catch up with me.”

She giggled and pecked him on the cheek, then finally pulled away. “Yeah, okay. If you say so.” She turned with an arm around his shoulders and took in all of Asahi’s friends with a humored smile as they all slumped over and/or stretched out against the back of a chair. “You guys look beat.”

“What’s the matter?” Kon said, walking up with his hands in his pockets. “Party too hard?”

“Kisumi was a mess on our way out of the bar,” Ikuya said. “Now that he’s quiet, I just feel exhausted.”

Akane giggled. “Did you get videos?”

“Plenty,” he and Hiyori said in a chorus, both raising their heads with devious smiles.

“Well good, I look forward to seeing them. Let’s cut into the cake first, though. Shall we wake Kisumi-kun?”

“Oi,” Haru said, kicking the leg of Kisumi’s chair.

Kisumi inhaled sharply and popped up straight, eyes still half closed and unfocused. “Hm?”

“Wake up. You told everyone you wanted cake.”

Asahi bit back a laugh, watching Kisumi look around slowly with a crease in the middle of his brow as though trying to find the source of Haru’s voice. His hair was a fussy mess now, probably no thanks to Asahi’s fingers, and in this lighting it was much easier to notice how pink his cheeks were. Asahi still felt that warm tickle in his stomach, and he found himself smiling quietly.

“I wasn’t late,” Kisumi mumbled, stretching his arms up over his head.

Everyone chuckled, and Kon and Akane turned to get the cake and presents. Asahi strolled over and sat next to Kisumi, absently reaching up to brush his bangs out of his eyes.

“Cake,” he said clearly. “We’re at the café like you wanted, remember?”

“I wanted coffee?”

Ikuya and Hiyori snickered. Asahi chuckled and lightly tapped the other’s cheek. “Kisumi, wake up.”

Kisumi blinked his eyes like he was doing his best to rejoin the world. He looked around again, eyes dropping to the table when Akane sat the cake down.

“Oh my god,” he exclaimed sleepily with another stretch. “I love cake.”

Asahi’s hand went back to his hair, rubbing at his scalp as Kisumi yawned. He left his fingers there, even after the dreary rendition of “Happy Birthday” was sang to him by the most reluctant voices. Kisumi swiped a finger through the frosting on the cake in the midst of the song and held it up in front of Asahi’s face. He closed his mouth around Kisumi’s finger and licked the frosting off. Kisumi smiled like a giddy preteen and nuzzled up close to Asahi again, arms squeezing his waist.

Akane glanced repeatedly at them with an interesting smile as she passed out slices of cake. She said something about it, but Asahi missed it on account of Kisumi picking up a whole bite of cake and sticking it in Asahi’s mouth with a delirious giggle this time. He did catch Ikuya’s dry response though, which went something like, “They’ve been like this for the past hour.”

“Kisumi got Asahi to dance with him at the bar,” Hiyori said, casually eating a large bite of cake. “It was _quite_ the spectacle.”

The corner of Ikuya’s lips turned up into a grin. “Got that on video too.”

“We’re famous?” Kisumi said, eating some of his own cake now, still without a utensil.

Hiyori and Ikuya looked at him and laughed.

“Not in the slightest bit.”

“You probably could be if we put that video up somewhere.”

“I want to see it!” Akane and Kisumi exclaimed at the same time.

Makoto immediately raised a shy hand. “Um, maybe we should get rid of that one,” he said, cheeks lightly blushing as he looked to Ikuya very intentionally.

Ikuya grinned. “I’ll just send it to Asahi tomorrow morning.”

“Hm?” Asahi hummed, peeking up with a mouthful of cake. Truth be told, he was only half listening to this conversation. Kisumi kept alternating between eating and feeding Asahi, who was distracted but not complaining.

“You can still show it to us,” Akane said, leaning over the table with a craned neck, eyes searching for Ikuya’s phone.

“I want to see it,” Kisumi insisted.

“I will send it to you in the morning, when you are sober.”

“I’m fine,” Kisumi said, rolling his eyes but completely missing his mouth when he went to lick the frosting off of his fingers.

Those who were watching him giggled. Asahi picked up a napkin and wiped his cheeks for him.

“I’ll send it to you, Akane-san,” Kisumi promised as Asahi swiped frosting off of the tip of his nose.

“Not after you watch it, you won’t,” Ikuya mumbled.

Akane’s smile was sparkling with mischief when she looked to Ikuya. “Was it that bad?” she practically mouthed.

Ikuya just raised an eyebrow, and everyone else — who wasn’t Asahi or Kisumi — followed suit when her eyes glanced around the table.

“Nothing some of us didn’t see coming though,” Hiyori said under his breath right before getting jabbed in the ribs by Ikuya’s elbow. Hiyori tilted his head at him, just barely containing a smirk. “It’s fine,” he said quietly. “He’s just as out of it as Kisumi is.”

Ikuya turned his eyes across the table, cheek in his hand now. “I would have thought he’d be _more_ obnoxious when he’s drunk.”

Asahi lifted his eyes to him, because he wasn’t oblivious, he just happened to care a bit less at the moment. “I am not obnoxious,” he said with a dignified chin-tilt.

Kon chuckled. “I thought he was a bit too docile.”

Asahi made a face at his brother-in-law. “You too? Kon, we’re supposed to be friends.” He huffed. “I’m always like this.”

Everyone laughed.


	9. Chapter 9

He couldn’t have explained the feeling of freedom, packing up his rooms knowing that, no matter what, he wasn’t coming back.

He’d agreed to live with his grandmother for the last few months before going off to Tokyo. Living half out of his book bag as he switched from mom to dad back to mom and then back to dad had honestly been no better than all of them living together under the same roof. They still fought — just over the phone. And always about him.

“He shouldn’t have to live his life like this!”

“He _decided_ to live his life like this!”

“He needs consistency.”

“And living with you full-time would give him consistency? You’re never home!”

“You’re one to talk. He doesn’t need to go through another move on your behalf!”

“I have a working job that provides for all of his needs! What are _you_ doing?”

And on and on and on and on, until his grandmother finally caught wind of it during one of his conversations with her. In hindsight, he wished he’d said something earlier, or had taken a video of his father’s beet-red face screaming into the phone just to send to her as an SOS. She’d given both of his parents the tongue-lashing of a lifetime, and he was only too happy to comply when she ordered him to come and stay with her until university started.

It had been the most exhilarating feeling, filling his bags and cardboard boxes, reclaiming all of his trophies and medals from both living room displays. He’d done this so many times, but he knew, after this last stop in Iwatobi, he’d be moving on campus in Tokyo, and he’d get to stay there for several consecutive years. Both of his parents had offered to help him pay for an apartment, but he knew it was just another underhanded way for them to force him to choose one of them over the other, because they weren’t going to go halfsies on it. He hadn’t wanted or needed their help anyway. He’d gotten into Hidaka on more than one sports recommendation and it had come with a generous scholarship that had been enough to cover the whole of his tuition plus on-campus living for at least two years. He hadn’t hesitated to accept the offer.

So he was set, and the only thing that could have made it that much better was being able to be close to Kisumi again while staying in Iwatobi. Except that, by the time he got there, Kisumi was already in Tokyo. It had been disappointing for sure, but nothing on earth could have damaged his excitement for the future. In fact, he’d made a habit out of walking down to the same park he and Kisumi had met at some time ago. And once a week, for the last two months, he would spend a good hour shooting hoops by himself, then sit atop that same jungle gym, staring out at the sunset on the horizon, and he would smile to himself, counting down the days until he’d finally be able to call something home.

Interestingly enough, it was never the place he was going to that was on his mind in those moments.

* * *

They spent about an hour at the café, then had a rather lengthy debate about how everyone was going to get home. It was agreed upon that neither Asahi nor Kisumi were clear enough to drive, and Asahi refused to stay the night with his sister.

“The last time I spent the night here, that baby’s screaming woke me up at goddamn five o’clock in the morning,” Asahi argued. “I love him to death, but there’s a reason I don’t have one of those.”

“Fine,” Akane huffed, propping her hands on her hips. “Then at least let Kon take you home.”

Asahi waved a hand. “I’m not five. It’s the middle of the night. He doesn’t have to drive us all around town and back. The alcohol’s wearing off anyway. I can walk.”

“Then let him drop you off at the train station at least. If he’s going to take Ikuya and Hiyori, you might as well. It’ll be quicker.”

Kon stretched his arms up behind his head. “Makoto, Haru, I can drop you guys off too.”

“Do you have room for all of us?” Makoto asked.

“They can take Kisumi’s car,” Asahi offered. “No sense leaving it here. Haru’s close to Kisumi’s place anyway. Kisumi can pick it up from him in the morning.”

“She likes to be sang to sleep, Haru,” Kisumi said, his head on Asahi’s shoulder at this point.

Haru just sighed.

They all dispersed after the close of the conversation. Akane gave Asahi another hug and birthday kiss and volunteered to hold onto his cake and presents until he came back for them tomorrow. He, Kisumi, Hiyori, and Ikuya all piled into Kon’s car to head for the train station. Haru took Kisumi’s car to drop Makoto off and then go home. Once at the station, Ikuya and Hiyori took the north train, Asahi and Kisumi took the south.

It was much much quieter now with just the two of them and very few passengers riding around this late at night. They had a car to themselves, and Kisumi stretched out across the seats to lay his head on Asahi’s lap. He somehow fell asleep again during the short ride to the next stop over, lulled by the gentle sway of the train.

By this point, Asahi was feeling much more awake. His thoughts weren’t as clouded or slow anymore and that could have been a combination of his sobriety returning in the midst of a sugar-high. The leg that didn’t have Kisumi’s head on it bounced restlessly, and his fingers roamed through Kisumi’s hair non-stop. He watched his face a lot, peering down at his blank expression and slightly parted lips, searching his memory for clear details of the night to replay in his head. He remembered all of it, for the most part. There were bits of conversations, beginning around when he’d finished his third drink that were harder to pin down, but he didn’t much care about that. He knew they were probably nonsense anyway.

What he did very clearly remember — the most out of everything, in fact — was dancing with Kisumi. And his stomach still dipped the same way as he thought about it, recreating every move in his mind. He felt a tingle in his skin and a warmth in his chest again, and part of him really wanted to rewind back to that moment and live in it for a while. The other part of him was a bit unnerved, now that he had the mind to consider the connotations of it all. So, above all else, his pulse was particularly irregular.

He waited until the very last minute to shake Kisumi awake, and then let him lean against him as they stepped off of the train and made their way in the direction of Kisumi’s apartment.

It was a quiet, cold night. Kisumi hugged Asahi’s waist and walked close to his side with his temple on his shoulder. Asahi let his arm rest around Kisumi’s shoulders, this time more cognizant of how they were clinging to one another. He still wasn’t “bothered” by it, so to speak, but it did heat the back of his neck with a blush now, realizing how much he truly enjoyed Kisumi’s closeness.

“Are you cold?” Kisumi mumbled after a yawn. They swayed a little as they walked, but Kisumi remained upright. He was also less inebriated now, just more so exhausted.

Asahi shook his head, thumb passing over Kisumi’s shoulder. “Not really.”

“Are you tired?”

“Not really.”

“You can stay at my place if you want.”

Asahi’s intestines seized. He couldn’t tell if there was any insinuation in that offer. There probably wasn’t. Kisumi was just offering because it was late, and ideally, Asahi would rather not have to spend another fifteen minutes walking himself back to campus after making sure Kisumi got to his door. It wouldn’t be the first night Asahi spent the night at his apartment, but something told him it’d be completely different this time. So he shook his head.

“Nah, it’s fine.”

Kisumi yawned again. “Okay,” he said, unbothered. There was a long pause, and then his arms squeezed Asahi’s waist. “Did you have fun?”

Asahi let his lips turn up in a warm smile. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for pulling all the strings.”

“I wanted it to be special,” Kisumi mumbled. “You’re a grown man now.”

Asahi chuckled. “I guess we have to start thinking about yours now. It’s only about a month away.”

Kisumi hummed a pacified sigh. “I’m too tired to think about it. Do you want to get coffee tomorrow?”

Asahi nodded absently. “Yeah.”

Kisumi nodded too. “Let’s get coffee tomorrow. We have to go to this place I found though. They have American food. We can eat chocolate chip waffles with whipped cream and bacon for breakfast.”

“That sounds good.”

“It is good. I went with Sousuke when he came to visit. He eats a lot.”

“I can imagine.”

They were approaching Kisumi’s building now, and Asahi looked up at its looming silhouette with a flutter in his pulse. He suddenly wished they had walked slower. He didn’t want all of this to end. Some part of him was afraid he’d never get it back, this feeling he had with Kisumi. He felt like he’d been given an open-door opportunity to let down a guard he hadn’t very much been aware of, and if he walked away now, he’d find that guard right back in its place when he woke up hours from now.

Did it have to be there? Couldn’t he always run his fingers through Kisumi’s hair? Was it okay if he made a habit out of walking with his arm around Kisumi’s shoulders, rather than just letting Kisumi hold onto him? Could he maybe dance with Kisumi more often in that same rather intimate way he’d never expected to enjoy so much?

“Asahi?”

“Hm?”

“Happy birthday,” Kisumi said as they slowed to a pause on the corner, just feet from the stairs leading up to Kisumi’s apartment.

They automatically pulled away from one another and stood face to face. Asahi nodded, gaze just briefly admiring the ever-present glimmer in Kisumi’s purple eyes. He still looked tired, but his smile was very much awake.

“Thank you.”

Kisumi bobbed his pink head in a nod. “Will you be alright getting home?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh.” Kisumi pulled Asahi’s jacket off of his shoulders as an afterthought and handed it over. Asahi took it and shrugged it on. It was extra warm from Kisumi’s body heat. “Sorry for stealing your jacket.”

Asahi allowed himself a small smile. “I gave it to you, stupid.”

Kisumi giggled and folded his hands in front of him. “Thanks for letting me borrow it then. You only had it for a little bit, but it still smelled like you.”

A knot formed in Asahi’s throat. “Did it?” he croaked. “Is that a good thing?”

Kisumi’s smile stretched. He nodded. “Yeah.”

Asahi felt a pleasant heat touch his cheeks. He pulled in a large breath and let it out heavily. “Good.”

A long pause rested between them, in which it felt like they were both waiting for something, but nothing extraordinary happened. A small breeze passed between them, Kisumi shivered, smiled some more, Asahi admired that smile … That was about it, until the silence was broken up by Kisumi’s light chuckle.

“Okay, Asahi. I’m going inside.” He held his arms with his shoulders shrugged to ward off the cold and slowly took a step back as though giving Asahi time to change his mind about something.

He just swallowed his heartbeat and nodded dumbly. “Yeah. I’ll um … I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Something both enchanting and heartbreaking passed through Kisumi’s purple gaze. His smile didn’t go anywhere, but it did change its tone. “Goodnight, Asahi.”

Asahi nodded. They turned away from each other, and he found himself walking away very, very slowly, as though his feet were more in tune with what he wanted than his brain was. His thoughts at this point were so convoluted, he didn’t know what to listen to, so he just stared blankly at the ground for what felt like a good long while as his heart became irritatingly loud. He tried to tune it out, calm it down, but it was also on the same track that his feet were, and eventually his whole body stopped moving.

His shoulders tensed and he balled his fists to keep his hands from shaking. There were no cohesive thoughts now. It just felt like he was being sucked into an instinct he had resisted for a very very long time. He was whirling around before he could make any form of a decision.

“Kisumi!”

Kisumi jumped at the sudden shout and turned with wide eyes. That grin followed a second later. “Asahi,” he replied, amused. “You are a very passionate person.”

Asahi didn’t respond. He cleared the space between them in three strides, very quickly placed a kiss on Kisumi’s cheek, and turned away again all in one movement. There was no plan, but he would have liked to take off immediately. However, Kisumi’s reflexes were something else, and he snatched Asahi’s wrist before he could even get a second step away. Asahi flushed with a full body blush this time, and he looked back with a groan.

“You’re supposed to just let me dramatically run away,” he scolded.

Kisumi’s eyes were bright, no longer with a single trace of exhaustion, and his smile was of a kind Asahi had never seen before. “But you missed.”

Asahi didn’t have to question it, and he didn’t have time anyway. Kisumi tugged on his wrist to pull him close and his lips were on Asahi’s within the next breath.

A shudder of excitement rippled its way from Asahi’s neck all the way down to his feet. There was a suspended moment in which they just stood there with their lips pressed together and Asahi would have been fine with just that, was fine with just that, mostly because his chest was flooding so quickly he didn’t really know what else to do. Ultimately, he didn’t have to think about it for long though, because Kisumi took the lead and pulled back just enough to finely tilt his head and begin pulling Asahi’s lips into a moving kiss.

He followed, copying the tender, enveloping tugs of Kisumi’s warm lips around his own. A shiver slipped down his spine, and he reached up to slide his hand under Kisumi’s jaw, thumb stroking his cheek. Kisumi guided his other arm around his waist then curled his fingers around the collar of Asahi’s jacket, seeing to it that there was no extra space between them as he pulled him close and leaned in at the same time.

Asahi let a long exhale escape through his nose as the kiss deepened. They both parted their lips enough to meet each other’s tongues, and he felt the tremble that shook Kisumi’s entire body. A small moan left Kisumi’s chest, and it all kind of took off from there. Something very lurid took a hold of every nerve and sinew in Asahi’s body, and he let it, very aware of a sudden hunger that yanked on his stomach, though he knew it had nothing to do with needing food.

He held Kisumi tighter, breath becoming short and heavy as the kiss veered off the road to frantic for a moment. It got a bit sloppy, but that somehow reached the bottom of his gut with an even deeper pull, and he very much liked the way Kisumi clung even closer. He very much liked the way Kisumi moaned a little louder. Then there were fingers tugging at his hair, and he liked that too. He also liked the curve of Kisumi’s back and the way that his body fit into his arms. He liked the taste of Kisumi, even with the lingering twang of alcohol and frosting. He still smelled like oranges, and Asahi needed to know why, but he wasn’t going to ask right now.

The smell of oranges was like nostalgia to him, something that was both endearing and sad. But right now it just felt like wholeness, and he wanted it to stay that way. He wanted to keep this. He was going to keep this. His lips kissed Kisumi liked this was the last time they’d ever see each other. His tongue searched Kisumi’s mouth like it’d never get the chance again. His arms held Kisumi like they’d lose the opportunity all too soon. But this wasn’t going to be the last time, and he’d just decided that in this very moment.

He didn’t know how long it went on for. He didn’t much care either, in all honesty. He would have liked it to continue on throughout the early hours of the morning, but he did need to take a proper breath, and so the moment eventually slowed and they parted with a pleasant release, foreheads leaning together as they caught their breath and Kisumi shivered again. Asahi ran a hand down his back and the other smiled, glittering eyes looking into Asahi’s soul. He placed another kiss on Asahi’s lips, a chaste one this time.

“That’s about what I expected kissing you would be like,” he said, an impish smirk hiding in the very corner of his mouth.

It didn’t register until after Kisumi took his hands and stepped back, giving his palms a squeeze goodbye before turning to walk away.

Asahi’s brow furrowed and he frowned. “Hey,” he called out to Kisumi’s back. “What do you mean by that?”

Kisumi passed a smile over his shoulder and waved. “Goodnight, Asa-chan.”

“Kisumi …”

“Get home safe, okay?”

“Kisumi!”

“I’ll see you tomorrow,” he sang, gracefully bouncing his way up the stairs.

“What do you mean by that!” Asahi shouted up after him. Still it went ignored by all but a cheerful wave, and then Kisumi disappeared.

Asahi pinched his lips. “Manuke,” he mumbled under his breath, before stuffing his hands into his pockets and turning on his heel.

He pulled his phone out as he started his way toward his dorm and vigorously punched _wut do u mean thats wut u expected???_ into the text box that he sent to Kisumi straight away.

Kisumi’s three second response was a winking kissy face.

Asahi scoffed. - _little shit_

_-You must truly be sober now. You didn’t call me a single name while we were out drinking :P_

_-like u remember lightweight_

- _I remember plenty ... I really enjoyed our dance by the way ;)_

Asahi felt a smile curling up on his lips as a new warmth settled down in his stomach. He read the message several times before finally sending a response.

_\- ... me 2_


	10. Chapter 10

The thought had crossed his mind once, but he had quickly shooed it away. Dismissed it like a shifty yokai. And he had forced himself never to think of it again — not for as long as he could help it anyway.

It was within that small space of time between moving into his dorm and the first week of classes, where they had enough free time to hang out together for the first time in over a year. Free time, when Kisumi wasn’t working his part-time job that was. But Katsumi was liberal about his nephew’s hours, so Kisumi took a whole week off just to help Asahi move in and get re-adjusted to the city. He’d been to Tokyo before, _lived_ in Tokyo before, but it had been some years, so he was content with allowing Kisumi to tote him around and jog his memory, pointing out hotspots and his favorite restaurants, ranting off a list of things they’d have to do together throughout the entire span of their college days.

There was one night in particular that they’d spent at an arcade, racing and playing shooting games for hours before they finally picked up some street food and went for a stroll along the river as the sun was setting and the lights were popping on across the skyline. It had been a rather chilly night then as well, which might have been the reason they’d subconsciously elected to walk so close to each other, or at least, that was what he’d told himself that day — until their arms brushed against each other for the fourth time and Kisumi finally curled his arm around Asahi’s.

It was the first time he’d ever done so, and it was so casual, but it had shot Asahi’s heart straight up to his throat and immediately slammed it back into his stomach. Though, he’d kept very intentionally quiet about it, which had been incredibly difficult for him. He’d looked over to find Kisumi’s gaze staring out over the river, a small pacified smile on the corner of his lips, the orange-red glow of the sun warming his cheeks. A breeze weaved through his hair and he brushed it back with his other hand, then turned his shining lavender eyes onto Asahi with a look of purity that he had no idea how to return.

He remembered becoming intensely stiff in that moment, gaping, probably with a bright red face.

“It’s about time, huh?” Kisumi had said, his voice warm and airy.

“Huh?”

“It’s been so long since we’ve lived in the same city.” He turned his head away again, returning his gaze to the reflection of the sunset on the water. His body shifted closer, and Asahi couldn’t tell if that was on purpose or not. “I’m so used to saying goodbye to you and never knowing when I’ll see you next. It’s strange to think you’re just a fifteen-minute walk away now.”

“Ah,” was the sound that had come out of Asahi’s mouth. He remembered being very transfixed by the line of Kisumi’s jaw at that moment. “Yeah … strange.”

“In a good way though,” Kisumi said, looking back and forcing Asahi to blink. “It feels … peaceful. Does that make sense?”

He didn’t remember nodding, because that was the moment the thought had explicitly hit him.

_Kiss Kisumi_.

_No, what? Don’t do that!_

_Why not? Would it be weird? Just a little one — on his cheek maybe?_

_God no!_

_On his lips then._

_That’s even worse!_

_What about that oddly appealing spot right there just under his jaw —_

_STOP!_

“Asahi, are you okay?”

“Mmhm.” It came out as an extremely strangled noise, and he could tell Kisumi was looking at him funny, but his focus was so very blurred. He had to blink several times, shake his head, and then face forward and slap his own cheeks.

“I’m fine!” he shouted, though he was pretty sure, in that moment, he was mostly telling himself that.

There had been a brief wavering pause of perplexity, and then Kisumi had giggled and nuzzled his cheek against Asahi’s shoulder. “You’re so weird.”

“ _I’m_ weird?” Asahi had said, snapping back to his standard train of thought. “Kisumi, you look like a walking cotton-candy stick.”

Kisumi burst with laughter, head falling back as he lifted his voice to the sky. Asahi smiled. And he never thought about kissing his friend again …

Until his 20th birthday.

* * *

He woke up to his phone vibrating underneath his pillow.

He’d been sent an address and a text that read: _Meet me in 30 minutes._

Admittedly, it took him a good five minutes to regain full consciousness — to remember where he was and why he was grimacing in the sunlight against a splitting headache. He read the time first: 1:36 pm. He rolled over onto his side, yawned, scratched at the back of his head, closed his eyes for another twenty seconds. And then the moment it flooded back to him, he popped up and threw his blanket to the floor.

He tripped into the bathroom, splashed his face with cold water, wet and aggressively ruffled his hair, threw on whatever random clothes met his fingers first, and tossed his new jacket on top. Then he was slamming his dorm door shut and flying down the hallway.

He earned a lot of looks, running like a maniac down the sidewalk, but he hardly paid them any mind, nor did he acknowledge the pounding in the back of his brain. He just squinted and bared his teeth, sprinting, turning left, right, and then left again. He ran the whole way, barely aware of how long it took him, because he seemed to get there in an instant. His eyes tightened in a manic glare the moment he saw that pink head of hair bobbing up onto the sidewalk, and he forced his limbs to push double-time.

“Kisumiiiii!” he growled.

Kisumi turned, purple eyes blinking with surprise the moment he saw Asahi barreling toward him, and he barely had enough time to flinch before nearly getting body slammed to the ground.

Some lady, who just happened to be walking past in that exact moment, squeaked out a yelp and jumped out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting bowled over as Asahi threw all of his weight on top of the other boy to snatched up his neck and throttle him.

Kisumi was already laughing.

“What did you mean by what you said last night, asshole?” he demanded through his teeth.

“Asahi,” Kisumi choked, more because he was snickering so hard than anything else — but also Asahi’s grip was really tight. “You’re so — _ack_ — vibrant first thing when you wake up.”

“Answer the fucking question, shithead!”

“I — can’t — breathe.”

“Then tap out!”

Kisumi urgently tapped Asahi’s forearm, and he let him go. They both stood, breathing heavily, and stretched out their backs, completely disregarding all of the astonished commuters that rushed quickly past them with wide eyes. And it was probably because goddamn Kisumi was still goddamn laughing, though it was intensely breathless.

He leaned over with his palms on his knees, face red, giggles shaking his shoulders. Asahi wrinkled his nose at him.

“Shut up.”

“Please, sir, may I have another?”

“Kisumi, goddammit,” Asahi growled, cheeks turning pink with mild embarrassment now, because Kisumi being annoying really shouldn’t have been so attractive.

Kisumi sighed as he stretched up to his full height, joyous tears in his eyes. He raked his hair back and smiled a glittering smile. “Good morning, Asa-chan,” he said cheerfully.

“Good _afternoon_ , bitch.”

“Ah,” Kisumi said, glancing at his phone before he stuffed it back into his pocket. He shrugged. “Everyone under the age of ten knows that when you wake up, it’s morning, no matter the time of day.”

“We’re in fucking college, idiot. It’s two o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Gosh, you must be starving.” Kisumi weaved his arm through Asahi’s and lead him to the doors of the restaurant he’d directed them to. “Come on. I’ll feed you.”

“Don’t patronize me. You’re a fucktard of a human being, you know that?” He held the door open over Kisumi’s head as they walked into a cozy-looking, American-style diner. “What kind of person leaves another person hanging like that? I called you five fucking times, moron.”

“Asahi, it was four o’clock in the morning.”

“I couldn’t sleep! I woke up in a fucking cold sweat and everything.”

“Aw, Asahi. I told you you could have spent the night at my place.”

He shoved Kisumi’s shoulder, earning yet another giggle. Kisumi waved a flippant hand at the girl who hesitated on her way up to greet them and take them to a table. She slowly plucked up a couple of menus and turned away quickly, mumbling for them to follow.

“I couldn’t sleep because of your shithead comment, asshole,” Asahi continued. “What about what happened was what you expected? Was that a good thing or a bad thing?”

Kisumi’s twinkling laugh was high and clear ringing across the restaurant. “ _Asahiii_ ,” he gasped with a light-hearted whine, sitting down opposite him at the booth the girl stopped at.

“Your server will be with you in a moment.”

“I’m sorry,” Kisumi said to the girl, smiling brightly. “Thank you so much.”

She bent over in an awkward bow and walked away quickly. Asahi kept a glaring gaze on Kisumi all the while, secretly appalled, because his pink-haired friend was suddenly ten times as appealing to look at, and the only thing he _wanted_ to do was kiss him right now. There was nothing different about him, at least not on a surface level. He was wearing a mint blue hoodie that Asahi had seen plenty of times before. His hair was wild at the moment, attractively so, but it wasn’t anything Asahi was unaccustomed to on a Saturday afternoon. There was a glow to his skin and a shine to his eyes, a brightness to him that Asahi felt in the pit of his stomach, but Kisumi _always_ looked that way.

“Of course it wasn’t a bad thing,” he said, leaning over the table, smiling as he dropped his chin in his palms.

Asahi narrowed his eyes. “How was I supposed to know that? You’re always smiling like you’ve got goddamn poison up your- … Look at you! You’re fucking doing it now. I can _never_ take you seriously. What a fucking peeve.”

“You are on fire today,” Kisumi giggled, as though everything Asahi said was a compliment. “Are you making up for being so nice last night?”

“Don’t change the subject. I asked you a question.”

At this, Kisumi scoffed, shoulders dropping as a glint of something like desperation crossed his eyes and his smile half disappeared.

“Asahi,” he stated, this time reproaching. “What do you _think_ it meant? Last night wasn’t the first time I’ve ever thought about kissing you. I mean, goddammit I’ve been waiting for years. I can’t believe it took you so long.”

A blistering chill crawled up Asahi’s back but then got stuck between his shoulders. “What the hell, man?”

“No, you don’t get to say that,” Kisumi argued, his smile completely gone now. “I’m the one who gets to complain right now. I can’t believe you would let me sit there pining after you like that. I mean, I get that we spent a lot of time building up our friendship over the phone, but you could have made a move within the past year at least. You’ve had a million and one chances. Did you really have to get drunk just to grow a ball sack?”

Asahi’s jaw dropped. “ _Wha_ - _?_ You don’t … Kisumi, what the fuck?”

Kisumi scowled, but it was still so goddamn cute. “I’m mad at you,” he whined. “You have no idea how frustrating it’s been being patient with you. I tried fucking everything to get your attention. I mean …” He suddenly slapped his hands on the table and hissed, “Do you know how embarrassing it is to flirt with _Tachibana Makoto_ all the time? Gods, I was literally going to die if I had to do that again.”

“Hold on, wait, stop,” Asahi said loudly, throwing up his hands. “Hold that there for just a fucking minute. What the hell are you talking about right now? Don’t you dare tell me you were pretending to like Makoto just to get my attention. I know I know you fucking better than that.”

Kisumi crossed his arms over his chest. “I wasn’t pretending,” he said, stuffily turning his head to the side. “There’s no way anyone that godly could walk around this earth without attracting me.”

“Kisumi.”

“I’m for real,” he said, shooting a glare back across the table. “No one was lying when I said I had a crush on him. I still do. And it would have been nice if he’d returned my affections at all, then I could have given up on your dumb ass. But do you really think I would be _that_ obnoxious about trying to seduce someone? I mean, _gods_. Honestly. The poor guy never even knew how to respond. I was two seconds from drowning myself that day at the pool.”

A raging heat flushed its way through Asahi’s face. He opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again with an inhale, but just groaned out a sigh and sat back with his knee bouncing, fingers curling on top of their table as he stared across at Kisumi with pinched lips, and Kisumi stared right back.

Within that time, their server showed up before Asahi could gather his thoughts enough to speak, and she asked them for their drink orders. Once she’d been sent away on a quest for two coffees and a chocolate milk, Asahi took another full breath and then leaned forward again.

“So. What you’re saying to me is that, this whole time, you’ve been over-exaggerating your crush on Makoto.”

Kisumi shrugged, chin tilted up. “That’s one way to put it.”

Asahi tried not to visibly tremble with the sudden wave of frustration, but his face sure did get hotter. “Kisumi. _Why?_ ”

Kisumi pursed his lips. His purple eyes were piercing this time. “Because I wanted you to _do_ something about it, stupid. That’s why. I wanted you to be jealous.”

“You _wanted_ me to be jealous?”

“Yes! But for _whatever_ reason you just sat there and let it happen.” He scoffed, poking out a pouting lip as he glanced off to the side. “I think I’m worth a little more effort than that.”

Asahi gritted his teeth and raised his fists to his forehead, dropping his gaze away before he could do something rash like leap across the table. He was sure, mostly, that he just wanted to throttle him again — punish him really, for having made everything so unnecessarily complicated — but he wasn’t all that sure, if he did leap across the table, that he wouldn’t just end up kissing him instead.

“I — can’t — fucking believe you right now,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he rhythmically hit his forehead with his knuckles.

“I can’t fucking believe you,” Kisumi shot back. “What else did you want me to do, Asahi? What else was there for me to say to you? I’m pretty sure I’ve made it painfully clear over the past _several_ years that I like you, have I not?”

Asahi groaned and dropped his face in his hands.

“Have I not, Asahi?”

He mumbled to himself, and Kisumi sighed.

“You really are _so_ stupid.”

Asahi popped his head up, nose wrinkled. “That’s not fair. You literally flirt with everyone.”

“Not the way I do with you. How many of our other friends do you see me hanging off of on a daily basis? Who else have I spent thousands of hours on the phone with? I took a whole week off of work just to spend time with you when you moved to Tokyo. I _volunteered_ to plan out everything for your birthday. I’ve been to every single one of your competitions since we started college. We eat almost every meal together. I babysit your sister’s kid. I spend every weekend with _you_ , Shiina Asahi, because I _want_ to. For chrissake, did you want me to scream it at you?”

Asahi pressed his lips, trying to stave off the heat swelling in his chest now. “You’re such a cunt.”

Kisumi’s jaw dropped with a gasp. They both slapped their hands over their mouths, and there was a long weightless moment in which they just stared at each other with wide eyes, neither of them sure how to respond, much less process this exact moment. And Asahi could have sworn he could feel the heartbeats ticking by, until a strangled snicker burst out of Kisumi’s nose and he buried his face in his palms with giggles that turned his skin red. It was contagious. The laughter bubbled up like soda water from the depths of Asahi’s stomach and he had to cup his hands around his nose and close his eyes.

It took a very long time for them to pull themselves together, and he was sure there were several sets of eyes glancing at them with furrowed brows. Their waitress even came by with their drinks and they both had to shake their heads and wave their hands to communicate that they were not at all ready to order, when she asked. It wasn’t until she turned away that they both gasped for air and wiped the wet from their faces.

“I’m sorry,” Asahi said breathlessly. “That was really mean.”

“Oh my god,” Kisumi responded, breaking down into more giggles. “I can’t believe you said that. Asahi, you are so ruthless.”

“I’m _sorry_.”

“I love it.” Kisumi chuckled and shook his head. He exhaled a long, controlled sigh and wiped at his eyes with a knuckle before looking back to Asahi with a smile. “Just maybe don’t use that on other people, okay?”

“Jesus, of course not.”

Kisumi giggled some more and his smile turned tender. He sighed again. “Wow. I must be really special to you, huh?” He raised an eyebrow and returned to propping his chin on his palms.

Asahi pursed his lips. He stared down those sweet lavender eyes for a moment, and took another large breath. “You are,” he said honestly, ignoring the way his skin crawled with embarrassment. His gaze dropped to his fingers as they fiddled with the cuffs of his sleeves. “S-Sorry. I’m not good at putting puzzle pieces together. You probably really would have been more successful just screaming it at me, or … maybe not, I don’t know. I couldn’t even put the pieces together for how _I_ was feeling.” He frowned and then hid his face in his hands. “Gods, I really am stupid.”

There was another pause, and then Kisumi’s fingers curled around his wrists and pulled them down. He slid his hands into Asahi’s and rested them on the middle of the table between them, then smiled, this time both affectionately and timidly.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that,” he said, his voice soft. “You can be really thick sometimes, yes, but not entirely stupid. And …” He shrugged. “I _was_ playing games with you a little bit, or at least, I can see how it might come across that way. So it really isn’t fair of me.” He tilted up his chin with a confident inhale. “I will accept ‘little shit’ or ‘pain in the ass,’ but maybe not so much cunt.”

Asahi grinned. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Kisumi echoed in a whisper. His grip tightened on Asahi’s hands, fingertips just barely rubbing into his skin.

Asahi dropped his eyes to their hands, his own grip sure as he held Kisumi back. “Sooo …” he began, voice low, cheeks hot.

“That was a mostly-sober, consensual kiss, right?” Kisumi asked, filling in the space Asahi left open with his own question.

Asahi furrowed his brow and looked back up. “Of course it was.”

Kisumi shrugged at the look Asahi gave him. “Can you really blame me for asking?”

“I _wanted_ to kiss you, Kisumi.”

This time Kisumi was the one who blushed and nervously turned his gaze away. “Okay. I mean, you tried to run away after just barely pecking me on the cheek so …”

“… I flaked out at the last second.”

Kisumi pursed his lips, gaze thoughtful as he watched a family across the room for a moment. They’d brought their baby with them. It was playing in a puddle of syrup. Kisumi’s smile returned, and he looked back with a teasing shimmer in his eye. “That doesn’t sound like you.”

The heat rose in Asahi’s face. His nose twitched and his heart skipped a couple of beats, staring down those purple eyes, but he couldn’t find the words to respond with.

“Were you embarrassed?”

“No.”

“Change your mind?”

“No.”

“And you’re sure you were mostly sober at that point?”

“I was definitely sober.”

“Did you get scared?”

“I- …” Asahi grimaced and looked away. “I’d never kissed anyone before, okay?”

Kisumi gasped. “ _Asahi._ ”

“Shut up.”

He giggled, squeezing the feeling from Asahi’s hands now. “You mean I was your first kiss?”

“That’s what I just said, stupid.” Asahi made a face and snapped his eyes back up. “Who have _you_ been kissing?”

Kisumi smiled innocently, and Asahi knew better than to fall for it. He also intentionally ignored the question. “What about all your girlfriends?”

“What girlfriends?”

“Asahi, all the girlfriends you said you were going to have, remember? Did you never accomplish your goals?”

“Don’t talk to me like that,” he snapped, arms tingling. His knee started to bounce again. “I talked a big game, okay? Is that what you want me to say? I never had a girlfriend. There was no point. I never knew when I’d be uprooted again, and I’m not heartless, so I stayed away from that. What do you want from me?”

Kisumi tilted his head curiously. “You never went on any dates at least?”

“Don’t you think I would have told you if I had?”

“Well, why didn’t you?”

Asahi furrowed his brow. “Did you _want_ me to?”

Kisumi stretched out a wise smile. “I want you to admit why you never did.”

Asahi’s heart dropped into his stomach and he felt the blood rush suddenly away from his face. Kisumi’s gaze was insistent, patient, clear, and intuitive. His expression didn’t flinch except to pull the corners of his lips further up his cheeks. He already knew the answer — probably to every question he had. He was just waiting for Asahi to spit it out of his own mouth and validate his guesses.

Had he really been so obvious to literally everyone but himself? He couldn’t have been that stupid. For all that time? Was he just really bad at this? How mortifying. It would have been nice to sink into the floor at this point. That would have been better than taking on the brunt of Kisumi’s gaze like this, where he now felt it so deeply he knew he was all kinds of fucked with this guy. They were still acting the same, but all of a sudden everything about their friendship had just changed with the snap of a finger.

“Are you ready to order now?”

They both glanced up to their waitress, who was looking at them very oddly, and it took a moment for Asahi to realize it was because they were still holding hands in the middle of the table. His muscles twitched, but Kisumi’s grip tightened and he refused to let go. He gave her a pleasant smile.

“Can we have chocolate chip waffles, please?” he said, as though he was asking for a favor instead of placing an order that he expected to be filled.

She nodded, lips pinched. Her eyes glanced from him to Asahi, to their hands, and back. “Anything else?”

“Bacon,” Kisumi said. “Lots of bacon.”

She just barely gave him another nod, then looked to Asahi and silently raised an eyebrow.

He shot a glance to Kisumi. “Yeah,” he said, nodding his head to second the order.

“Okay,” she responded, turning away. “I’ll have that right out.”

“Thank you,” Kisumi called to her back. He continued to watch her for a while, this time with a tautness to his smile and a glaze to his eyes that thought about a lot of things just within the one moment before she disappeared. “She’s nice.”

“She was judging us.”

“I know,” he said, looking back.

Something almost painful blossomed in Asahi’s chest as he watched Kisumi’s expression and realized this was nothing new to him, nothing he’d never thought about before. He pulled in a courageous breath.

“I’ve always felt _something_ for you. I just didn’t always know what and … didn’t always want to.”

Kisumi’s smile was tender, encouraging. His shoulders dropped peacefully. “I know.”

Asahi’s spine shuddered, and it wasn’t all that uncomfortable of a feeling. “You’re one of the few parts of my life that’s been constant, and I guess …” That pressure filled his chest again, and he felt the heat returning to his cheeks and, this time, the bridge of his nose. He forced himself to continue, forced himself to meet Kisumi’s gaze. “I guess our r-relationship is the only one that I’ve um … trusted.”

Kisumi was unsurprised. He knew all of this, had been waiting for it, and still Asahi felt completely stupid, but Kisumi’s purple gaze only communicated an encouraging warmth that Asahi would have been okay with keeping forever.

“And so you’ve never ventured outside of what you already trusted?”

Asahi’s lips twitched. “I never really wanted to.”

Kisumi nodded, smiling a flattered kind of smile now. “So I did something right, is what you’re saying?”

Asahi released a long exhale through his nose. “You’re so full of yourself.”

Kisumi flashed his teeth. “But you’re not at all, right?”

“Shut up.”

Kisumi giggled. He stood up from his seat, leaned across the table and placed a kiss on Asahi’s forehead. It was quick, and Kisumi was sitting down again within the next second, but the very moment in which his lips had touched Asahi’s skin felt infinite, and Asahi then just sat there staring … as did several other waffle-eating citizens of Tokyo.


	11. Chapter 11

It had never really hit him, but he remembered having a moment.

That same night that he had thought about kissing Kisumi the one and only time, he sat on the floor of his room, digging through boxes, and had happened upon the photo album he kept all of his memories in. He’d always been one to make sure he captured all of the faces he came across in life, because it was one way to remind himself that, even though he couldn’t often keep friendships, he was very capable of starting them. It was a bit of a double-edged sword sometimes, because he often looked back at his photo album and saw all of the people he’d left behind, disappointed, walked away from with the echoes of his empty promises that he “wasn’t going to move again.”

But settled in his dorm room, knowing that he wasn’t relying on his parents to tell him where to go next, it was much easier to appreciate all of the friends he’d made, most especially because a handful of them had just re-entered his life, and he was excited about that. But then he’d flipped to the pictures of him and Kisumi and he’d rested there for a very, very long time.

Most of the pictures he had with Kisumi had been taken within the last couple of months before he’d moved away in middle school, and staring at them had pulled at something in his stomach that was both comforting and overwhelming. And he heard Kisumi’s words from earlier that evening tumbling around in the back of his mind over and over and over again. 

_I’m so used to saying goodbye to you_ … _It feels peaceful._

Not having to say goodbye feels peaceful.

… It feels peaceful.

* * *

They did absolutely nothing technically “productive.” No homework, no practice, no errands, no cleaning, no acting like responsible adults. And yet it was probably the most instrumental day Asahi had ever experienced in his life. Because everywhere they went, Kisumi’s hand was in his. Everything they talked about made him feel a kind of full that he’d never felt before. Everything they did was burned into his memory, every detail seized with urgency and painted tenderly onto a portrait that would hang in the back of his mind forever. Kisumi’s satisfied smile. The flutter of the breeze through his hair. Each punctuation of his laugh or his giggle. The way his hand felt, tugging on Asahi’s as he toted him down the sidewalk. The unapologetic way he brushed off every gaze that landed on them funny.

They stood chest to chest on the crowded train, grinning at each other with their fingers interlocked around the same handgrip. They crept down the street in front of Makoto’s apartment building like seven-year-olds playing burglar as they sneakily stole Kisumi’s car back, then laughed tears into their eyes all the way across town about how of course they should have known Haru wouldn’t bother to go home last night. They strolled through Ueno Park and picked cherry blossom petals out of each others’ hair. They bought anpan and melon buns and ran away from hungry ducks, then lounged around under the spring sun, enjoying the unpressured time of an empty Saturday. This was about when Ikuya finally sent them the video he’d promised, and they leaned their heads together to watch on Kisumi’s phone.

“Oh my god,” Asahi moaned, pressing his palms to his burning cheeks while Kisumi giggled himself to tears.

“Hee hee heeee, you’re so drunk,” he gasped, pressing the play button to watch the video a second time.

Asahi sputtered, stomach coiled. “ _Me_? You’re the one that- … Oh, Jesus Christ!” He looked away, holding his hand over his eyes, because it was simply too embarrassing. He could have blamed Kisumi all he wanted to, but according to the video footage, he’d needed absolutely no prompting to get his body to move like that.

He was feeling very strangely conflicted. Part of him wanted to take the video and stick it into a secret pocket to pull back out later and watch it on repeat for a few hours. That dance was still his favorite part about last night — maybe besides the goodnight kisses at the very end. But for a moment that cozy, he would have much rather he and Kisumi had been some kind of alone and not at a public rooftop bar with all of their friends watching.

“Get rid of it,” he groaned, when he heard Kisumi press play a third time.

“No,” he stated, still giggling. “I’m definitely keeping this. Damn, Asahi, you can really move.”

“You’re a brat.”

Kisumi hummed as though not really listening. “I’m not so bad either, if I do say so myself. We look good.”

“You know what, fucker,” Asahi said, snapping up and pulling his own phone out of his pocket to shoot Ikuya a text. “That’s not the only video they got of you last night.” He chuckled evilly as he pressed send and waited for the glory of blackmail possibilities to come.

“Whatever ammo you think you’re going to get on me, I wouldn’t hold my breath,” Kisumi said, smile pacified and unbothered as his eyes stared at the image of their bodies moving together. “I’m quite unashamed, if you haven’t noticed.”

Asahi wanted to make a smartass comment and call him another name or two, but he found himself just simply smiling warmly at the side of Kisumi’s face. They were still sitting in the grass, Kisumi with his knees bent to prop up the backs of his hands for a decent viewing angle of his phone. Asahi had one leg folded under the other, leaning his weight on his palm while he left his other arm draped over the knee he had up. There was enough space between them that anyone passing by wouldn’t give them a second thought, but they were also close enough that Asahi could have leaned forward and pressed a kiss on Kisumi’s cheek. He didn’t, but it was nice to bask in the warm temptation of wanting to.

Before this moment, he probably would have brushed the thought away the same way he had the first time it had come around, but now he was living in a surreal space of time that wasn’t all that unlike the floaty dream state he’d been in when Kisumi had pulled him out of his seat to dance last night. And he was okay with living there. It was even nicer now that he had his full cognizance about him. He’d known exactly what he was doing the night before, but he had done it with a careless attitude that had been given to him by some outside force. In this moment right here, he elected to have that careless attitude all on his own, and it felt extraordinarily empowering. So it _was_ possible to be with Kisumi the way he wanted to be with Kisumi, and it was a sickeningly sweet feeling to know, now for certain, that Kisumi wanted to be with him too. 

And he got lost for a moment, just thinking about what all that meant, what all that _could_ mean, while he sat there watching Kisumi smile at his phone. He could run his fingers through Kisumi’s hair. Whenever he wanted to, he could. He could make a habit out of walking with his arm around Kisumi’s shoulders, and in fact, he most definitely would. He could dance with Kisumi more often in that same rather intimate way he’d never expected to enjoy so much. Though, they might have to keep that private. And in fact, he wouldn’t mind keeping that private. He wouldn’t mind getting into some other things that probably needed to be kept private either. And once that door was opened, his thoughts went down a rabbit hole that, just the other day, would have been frightfully forbidden for him to get lost in.

“I think you’re beautiful too.”

Asahi blinked, focusing his gaze again, and realized his cheeks had gone a bit warm. Kisumi perked up a smart little grin and turned his purple stare over to the right. Asahi took a moment to breathe, whisking his previous thoughts away, and pursed his lips.

“That’s not what I was thinking about.”

Kisumi made a pouting face. “Well it should have been.”

Asahi grinned. “You are absolutely rotten. I’m not going to give you the satisfaction, do you hear me? You will not be spoiled on my watch.”

Kisumi hummed a light sigh, smiling again as he looked away. “I’m not so sure about that.”

“You think I’ll cave?”

“In an instant.”

“Try me.”

Kisumi turned, pressing his palm into the grass to lean in closer to Asahi’s face. “Tell me I’m beautiful,” he said with an all-knowing smirk, his lavender eyes staring intentionally down at Asahi’s lips.

The pressure of his presence in that moment became an enveloping shroud that sparked a warm tingle in Asahi’s skin. His blush deepened with a rich heat he felt all the way to his very core, and try to ignore it as he might, there was no possible way he could get past the way it started up his pulse like he was in the middle of swimming a race.

“Asahi,” Kisumi said, the soft tenor of his voice like a chime in Asahi’s ears. He tilted his head innocently to the side, nose only inches away. “You think I’m beautiful, right?”

It was exhilarating, and terrifying, and absolutely blissful. He was so tempted to lean in, and still, just sitting in that temptation was somehow the best feeling. Maybe because it was Kisumi — a perpetual tease — he knew how to manipulate every given situation to lean in his favor, and he had no problem monopolizing that gift without hesitation. His eyes were so purple, so crystal clear, and yet so shady all at the same time. He was an attractive being. Quite the opposite of someone like Makoto, Kisumi _knew_ he was attractive, and he also used that to his advantage. Asahi wasn’t going to complain about that. Kisumi was smart.

“You are absolutely beautiful,” he agreed, leaning in to finally claim that kiss, but Kisumi moved back before he could get there.

He chuckled, smile crafty and glittering. “Told you.”

He stood and tucked his phone in his pocket, turning his face to the sun for a moment to the let the breeze brush his hair back. It was disappointing, but all Asahi could do was lean back on both palms and admire him.

“Are we leaving?”

“Our park scene has run its course,” Kisumi said, propping his hands on his hips. He smiled down at Asahi. “Time to utilize a different setting.”

“Like what?”

He shrugged. On the outside it was casual, but reading closely into it, he clearly already had something in mind. “We’ll go wherever the wind takes us. Maybe we’ll end up at the theater, or at the top of a skyscraper, or someplace quiet … like an apartment.”

His smile turned up at the corners, an unspoken suggestion, and Asahi pushed himself to his feet, playing off the way his spine shivered as though it never happened. He stuffed his hands in his pockets and held his elbow out for Kisumi to thread his arm through, and they walked in step out of the park.

“Anywhere the wind takes us huh?”

“You never know.”

“Something tells me you always know.”

Kisumi grinned, eyes staring out ahead of them. “I will not confirm or deny that. We should go on a date sometime.”

“I thought this was a date.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, let me rephrase. You should ask me on a date sometime.”

“Ah.” Asahi nodded, squinting in the sunlight. “There it is.”

“I mean really. I can’t carry this whole relationship on my back. I’m going to need you to step it up just a little bit.”

Asahi scoffed, shooting an offended glare at that smirk. “I was the one who kissed you first.”

“On the cheek.”

“You had the dumbest grin on your face.”

“I don’t know what that has to do with anything.”

“It has literally everything to do with all of this.”

“You could have stayed at my place last night,” Kisumi said, looking up at the sky as though only half interested in the conversation.

“We’re going to your place now, aren’t we?” Asahi broke away as they walked up to the car.

Kisumi raised his eyebrows, grin stretching as he unlocked the doors. “Is that what’s happening?”

Asahi huffed out a breath of annoyance, and Kisumi giggled. They simultaneously ducked down and slid into their seats, closing the doors behind them.

“You were the one who said it,” Asahi said, buckling his seatbelt.

Kisumi made a face, head tilting as he put the car in drive and eased out into the traffic flow. “Did I though?”

“You play _way_ too many games.”

“I like to have fun.”

“So I noticed. It’s going to bite you in the ass one day, you know.”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Asahi leaned his elbow on the door, staring out at the Tokyo rush passing alongside them. “You know exactly what I mean.”

“I like the way you flirt.”

Asahi smiled to himself, heart pumping excitedly. He didn’t allow himself to get wrapped up in the insinuations of where they were going. He might not have been able to keep his cool otherwise. He brushed a finger over the bridge of his nose.

“Who said I was flirting with you?” he responded, turning his grin across the car.

Kisumi was back to wearing that smart little smirk. “You flirt with me all the time,” he said, eyes glancing down as his phone lit up where he’d placed it in the cup holder. 

He gave Asahi one last devious smile, purple eyes picking him all the way apart in an instant. Then he turned his gaze back to the road and swiped his thumb across his phone before lifting it to his ear.

“Hey, Mom.”

Asahi bit down his grin, shivering in the aftermath of that glance. He looked back out the passenger window and pressed his nose against his knuckles. The sidewalks were teeming over with pedestrians, just as usual on any given day, and yet he still managed to pin down a handful of individuals in the crowds: a hurried mom dragging her stumbling toddler behind her, a stray cat tight-roping along the very edge of the curb, a gaggle of preteens disrupting the flow of traffic by cutting early across the road, a lovesick couple giving goodbye kisses on the corner. He watched them for a moment, or as long as he could see them before the corner was dragged out of sight. The way the woman stood on her toes, staring up at her handsome fellow, eyes misty and shining, smile warm and completely enraptured, was not all that different from the way Kisumi had always looked at Asahi. And now that he was seeing it from a different perspective, he was that much more surprised at himself for having so thoroughly missed it when all the signs had been sitting right in front of his face.

He wondered what his younger, middle school self would say right now, how he’d react. If he knew that one day Kisumi was going to end up being his best friend and then some, he wondered how much time twelve-year-old Asahi would have spent trying to hate that pink-haired little boy. Kisumi hadn’t changed, not a single bit, but things were definitely different here — eight years into the present.

He sighed to himself, then found his eyes glancing back across the car, because the atmosphere had gone strangely stiff.

Kisumi was no longer smiling. Instead, his eyes were completely glazed over, wide, as though locked in a trance, and he quite clearly was not breathing. The color had gone from his face.

Asahi frowned, sitting forward. “Kisumi?”

He said nothing, just sat frozen as though someone had pressed pause on him. Asahi couldn’t pick up if his mother was still talking on the other end of the line. His eyes glanced ahead just as the traffic light coming up turned red and the delivery truck several yards in front of them chugged to a halt. He looked back. Kisumi was still frozen, and, through his eyes, Asahi could see the spreading thorns of a crushing fear burrowing somewhere deep within him, and that alone seized his chest with a cold dread he’d never experienced before. The expression on Kisumi’s face was intensely foreign.

“Kisumi,” he called again, this time a little more urgently, because they were still moving at the same speed.

His eyes darted forward again. The back of the truck was coming up really close, really fast. His heart jumped up to his throat.

“Kisumi!”

Kisumi’s hands dropped slowly. He pulled the phone away from his ear and took his fingers off the steering wheel. He turned his palms over and stared at them with a gaping gaze that quietly began to flood with tears. A crease formed on his brow.

“Oh god,” he whispered.

“Kisumi, the brakes! Stop the- … Fuck!”

Asahi lunged over and yanked up the emergency brake. An ear-grating screech lifted from the tires as the car pitched forward and fishtailed out into a spin. Asahi’s hand reflexively grabbed the wheel and in all of the three seconds it took for the whirling motion to lurch to a halt, he was absolutely sure that a) he was going to throw up, and b) they would die immediately after.

The sudden jerk of the car forced the breath out of his chest as his seatbelt locked and yanked him back. His eyes popped open, wide and more alert than they’d ever been in his life. All he could see for a moment was the quick dissipation of smoke leaving the air. The ghastly stench of burnt rubber stung his nose, and all of a sudden his ears were filled with aggressive honking.

He blinked at the Nissan facing them, the nose of the front bumper hardly a foot from where they were stopped. The driver was clearly pissed off, as he was flailing his arms around in a fury, and he whipped his car out to speed around them. The line of cars that had slammed their brakes behind him started to follow his lead, every single one of them honking their disapproval.

Asahi’s body shook, muscles completely coiled as though he’d gotten stuck exactly half a second before springing loose. His fist was still holding the steering wheel in a death grip. He slowly turned his head to look over his shoulder. They were centimeters away from the delivery truck that paid them absolutely no mind and pulled forward with the flow of traffic as everything moved again.

Asahi looked forward again, gasping as his chest began to pull in air like he’d never breathed before. “Holy shit. Fuck.”

The residual panic rippled through his body in one wash, and he finally found motion in his limbs. He threw his arms up, fingers gripping his hair.

“Holy motherfucking goddammit. Shit!”

They were still being honked at, still a standstill being aggressively bypassed. He reached out and turned on the hazard lights, then looked to his right.

Kisumi was breathing now, but it was not normal, and something told him it had nothing to do with them nearly getting smeared across the busy city street. His chest was heaving slowly as though he was trying to take in air he couldn’t find, and he was still staring down at his trembling hands, eyes shining with tears that hadn’t yet fallen.

“Kisumi.”

“Oh my god …”

“Kisumi!”

Kisumi’s head shook, and it had nothing to do with responding to Asahi.

Asahi’s throat seized. “Shit.”

He bared his teeth and unbuckled his seatbelt, then pushed his way out of the car. His eyes glanced over the roof at the vehicles flying by on, what was now, Kisumi’s side of the road. He huffed a breath out of his nose and poked his head back in the car.

“Get over here. I’m driving.” He reached over and unbuckled Kisumi’s seatbelt, then tugged on his arm to force him into motion. He moved, but dazedly, stumbling clumsily as his quivering body climbed over the center console and dropped into the passenger’s seat.

“Asahi,” he said in a trembling moan as Asahi leaned over to buckle him in. His eyes were still trapped in an entirely different world.

“Shut up for a minute,” Asahi breathed. “You almost fucking killed us, goddammit.”

He was very aware that in this moment Kisumi was a splintering toothpick that probably needed to be handled gently, but the boiling fight-or-flight response in Asahi’s stomach wasn’t the smallest bit eager to coddle him right now. They at least needed to get out of the middle of the road.

He closed the door once Kisumi was settled, and got in through the back seat, also climbing over the center console to get to the front. A heavy breath left his lungs when he sat himself down, but he didn’t pause to calm down. His hands were still shaking when he took the wheel and put the car in reverse. He backed the car past the intersection and then threw it in drive and turned down the side street, letting a ripple of relief catch the nausea in his stomach now that they were facing the right direction. His eyes scanned the passing buildings, and he pulled into the first parking lot he found at a corner gas station.

He put the car in park, turned it off, and rubbed an agitated hand through the back of his hair. He took a moment to concentrate on the tightness of his chest and exhaled another long slow breath, before finally looking over at Kisumi, whose face was buried in his hands, back hunched as he pressed his elbows into his knees.

“What happened?” Asahi said, his voice rougher than he would have liked it to be, but it was too late for that now.

Kisumi’s shoulders shook. He turned his face away, knee bouncing anxiously.

“Kisumi, I swear to god. We were _centimeters_ from getting flattened just now. _What_ happened?”

“Hayato.” It was the only thing he said, and it came out both deathly quiet and brimming with fear.

Asahi’s shoulders dropped, lips turning down as he watched Kisumi’s body swell with grief and fidget with a restlessness that was entirely subconscious. He shook his head again and steepled his fingers to cup his hands around his nose. The tears spilled over quietly, and it produced the most disconcerting feeling of foreboding that Asahi had ever happened upon. A pit of terror started forming in the very bottom of his stomach. That nauseous intensity sprang back up.

“What happened?” he asked again, voice much more subdued now, because he suddenly realized the gravity of the moment, where he was already standing very precariously on a field of eggshells.

Kisumi hiccuped a breath, but seemed unable to speak. His shining eyes just stared out into that same void, looking dread dead in the face.

Unsure what else to do in this moment, Asahi found himself placing a hand on Kisumi’s shoulder and a painful knot swelled in his throat in response to the violent tremble his palm met. He grimaced.

“Kisumi, what happened to Hayato? Is he hurt?”

Kisumi shook his head. “No,” he moaned, and it wasn’t the least bit reassuring. He sucked in a sharp breath and rubbed the tears from his face, but it hardly helped. His eyes and face were all red at this point.

“They took him to see a doctor when he had his fever,” he forced himself to say, voice shaking as though it would snap at any second. “It wasn’t going away, so they did some scans.” His blank slate of an expression turned into a grimace of pain, as though someone he loved and trusted had just run him through with a spear. He threw his hands over his face again and his next words came out strained. “They found that … They found …”

He shook his head again, and his shoulders tensed, and this was even more disconcerting. He hardly needed to continue, but Asahi opened his mouth to ask the question anyway.

“What is it?”

“Neuroblastoma.” His voice trembled as he said it, thick with tears and a hopelessness that pulled that anchor deeper. 

Something in Asahi’s spine pinched. He barely noticed himself speaking again. “Cancer?”

A nod was the only thing Kisumi could manage. His body tightened into a ball as he pulled his feet up onto the seat and buried his face in his knees. He was quiet, which didn’t do anything but coil Asahi’s intestines, because this seemed like the most hopeless response Kisumi could have given. Asahi looked forward, palm sliding an inch or two down Kisumi’s shivering back. He wasn’t sure what to say. _Was_ there something he could say? What do you do in response to something like this?

“M- … Maybe they misdiagnosed him or something,” he found himself saying. “I’m sure it happens a lot, right?” It sounded stupid coming out of his mouth, but he didn’t know what else to do, and Kisumi took a rattling breath anyway.

“They checked three times already,” he said, voice muffled. “My mom didn’t want to tell me until they were sure.” He paused, and during the passing moment of silence, a noise escaped him that Asahi couldn’t describe. It just sounded like pain. “They had already gotten back the first test results when I went to visit, and they didn’t say anything to me,” he moaned, and this was followed up by the very clear sounds of his breath hitching as he cried.

Asahi’s head tilted, fingers going cold, because he changed his mind. This was worse than the silence. He felt his throat swell with yet more dread, and he didn’t want to ask his next question. Really, and most especially in hindsight, he shouldn’t have asked at all. Though, also in hindsight, it wouldn’t have changed anything about the situation.

It was hard to inhale. His breath was so thin. “What stage?” he whispered.

And this was when Kisumi’s broken, breathless crying turned into outright sobs, and he didn’t answer the question for the longest time. Asahi’s fingers curled around the back of his shirt absently. He didn’t know he was doing it. He just stared out the windshield and watched oblivious bystanders wander in and out of the convenience store and leisurely fill up their cars with gas. They were having a nice day, picking out sodas, and checking their watches, and squinting thoughtfully into the sunlight. Until just a moment ago, Asahi and Kisumi had been having a nice day too.

“Three.”

Asahi almost didn’t catch it. It came out so fragmented, just barely whispered through the down-swell of an exhale. It only just caught his ear, and yet the impact that it had forced him to rest his shoulders back against the seat. It just felt like cold oozing down his body from the crown of his head as though someone had poured a bucket of frozen slime over him. He tried to swallow but it didn’t work, and his lips trembled but he couldn’t part them. There was nothing to say. Absolutely nothing.

His grip tightened on the back of Kisumi’s shirt and he pulled him as close as he could, turning like a zombie to wrap his arms around him and hold him to his chest. Kisumi’s only response was to continue crying, leaving Asahi nothing to do but clench his jaw and stare over his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	12. Chapter 12

**Part II**

The initial shock wore off rather quickly. By the time they arrived at Kisumi’s apartment, he had gone unnervingly quiet, and Asahi was back to wondering if maybe the crying was better. Neither state of Kisumi was one that he liked, but there was something about the severity of Kisumi’s silence that was extremely ominous.

Quite admittedly, he was scary like this. It wasn’t that the lack of sound and energy held any kind of fury or malice. It was that Kisumi was very rarely a soul that basked in the hush of any moment. The two times there had ever been this much silence between them were both over the phone, and while the gravity of each moment was rather grave indeed, Asahi had never been able to see Kisumi’s face in those moments, and there had been an undercurrent of support and encouragement both times that had simply gone unspoken.

This was universally different. Kisumi wasn’t absorbing comfort, he was drifting off. The stare of his eyes slid back into that void that Asahi couldn’t see. He focused on nothing that was in front of him, and yet, as he threw several shirts into a small suitcase, he moved without hesitation. His limbs were in the moment, but nothing else about him seemed to be. And what was worse than any of that was the complete and utter gaping absence of his smile.

Asahi didn’t expect him to smile. It would have been ludicrous to hope for such a thing right now. He knew that. But the reality of the situation did nothing to comfort the fact that Kisumi without a smile was very wrong. Solemn Kisumi was an image that always had been wrong, but in this particular instance, it felt specifically unsettling, because Asahi knew that this unnatural soberness about his best friend wasn’t going to be fleeting this time. And that’s what was scary.

It took Kisumi all of fifteen minutes to pack a bag, during which time, he called Katsumi, who begrudgingly admitted that he had known what was going on with Hayato for the past month already. It burned an anxious heat in Asahi’s skin to watch Kisumi quietly tell his uncle off for allowing all of this information to be kept from him, and he argued that he was not going to be talked into staying in Tokyo right now, no matter what his parents or his uncle had to say about it. 

There was a trembling ache vibrating in Asahi’s chest by the time they had gotten back in the car, and the whole way to the Shinkansen station, he bit his tongue against asking ridiculous questions about when Kisumi planned on coming back. But he didn’t hesitate, when they reached their destination, to pinch the back of Kisumi’s hoodie before he could step up to the ticket kiosk. He moved in front of him to buy the ticket himself, intentionally purchasing a pass back to Tokyo, that he took the liberty of tucking into Kisumi’s pocket for him along with extra money for the local line from Himeji to Iwatobi.

Kisumi didn’t say anything to him, and he didn’t respond when Asahi folded him into a hug and whispered, “I’m sorry,” into his ear. He closed his fist around the back of Asahi’s new jacket, and breathed a trembling sigh into his shoulder, but that was the most that came out of him. They stood like that for a long while, but, to Asahi, it never would have been enough time, because Kisumi was gone from his embrace before anything else could be said. Asahi watched his back as he passed through the gate, and then stood there for all of thirty seconds longer before he bought himself an entrance pass and followed him at a distance to the platform.

He didn’t know what words there were to describe the nasty weight pulling his chest into his stomach as he stared at the back of Kisumi’s shoulders, as he watched him board the train, as his eyes monitored his movements as best he could, and his feet walked along the platform against the crowd to stop just outside the window of the car Kisumi sat himself in.

His fists trembled in his pockets. Something tried to tell him to say something — as though he could, as though Kisumi would hear him, as though there was something to be said that would at all benefit his best friend. It was insistent though, pounding on his chest with a heavy heartbeat, forcing him to pace just a little bit, because he felt his knees would give out if he locked his legs. It was welling with a slow, nauseous fear, telling him Kisumi was not going to come back the same … if he came back at all. Asahi didn’t want to think about that, but he knew Kisumi had no general plan. Knowing what he knew now, there was absolutely nothing in this world that was going to stop him from getting to his little brother, and Asahi knew that, but there was an ominous shadow of mortality sitting in the seat across from Kisumi, enveloping him in a darkness Asahi struggled not to snatch him from.

He couldn’t get on the train anyway. He had quietly managed to ask Kisumi on their way to the station if he wanted Asahi to go with him, but Kisumi had shaken his head in silence. It had been a stupid question anyway. Traveling to and from Tokyo was frightfully expensive, and Asahi knew Kisumi already had no intentions of coming back anytime soon. It had taken nearly everything he had in his pockets just to get Kisumi on the train.

His stomach rolled. It took an agonizing twenty minutes for the train doors to close, and though Asahi stared up through the window at that pink head of hair the whole time, Kisumi didn’t once look back. He kept his head tilted forward, shoulders sloped as he stared into that void, into the abyss of that dread that was already swallowing him whole. He would not come back the same. And Asahi couldn’t even begin to understand how to breathe through a realization like that. He just kept pacing, just kept watching, until the Shinkansen finally pulled forward. His body automatically followed it for all of five steps, before it was already moving too fast for him to keep up with. That pink head of hair disappeared before he was even remotely ready, and he found himself just staring across the empty rails long after the train whipped out of sight.

He didn’t know how long he stood there with his hands clenched in his pockets. He only knew that he might have stayed there forever if his vibrating phone hadn’t shocked him awake. He dug it out of his pocket, hoping that it was Kisumi texting him to tell him not to worry, that everything was going to be okay and he’d be back soon. But his stomach dropped with disappointment when Ikuya’s name popped up on the lock screen instead. He swiped his way into his messages to find that he’d been sent five new video files, and it was with absent thought that his thumb tapped on one at random and it pulled up in full on his screen. He pressed play and was met by the mirth of giggles hiding somewhere behind the camera as Kisumi spun in graceful, leisurely circles by himself, dancing to music that at this point only sounded vaguely familiar to Asahi. And it continued not to register as his ears began to ring with a dizzying pressure that he was hardly aware of. Kisumi was smiling to himself, seventy degrees left of any form of cognizance probably, but he couldn’t have cared less.

Asahi’s cheeks burned and he numbly clicked through the rest of the videos. There was one more of Kisumi peacefully and beautifully dancing by himself, and one of him jumping unapologetically on the elevator as Makoto pleaded for him to stop in the background. The fourth was Kisumi completely lost in drunken giggles, his limbs floppy and exhausted as Asahi pulled him onto his back, and it wasn’t until he watched Kisumi wrap his arms around him and nuzzle his face into his hair that that knot began to swell in his throat.

The last video was hard to see. Everything was dark, highlighted only by the blur of city lights in the background. It had been taken in the car on their way to the café, and he watched himself cuddle Kisumi in his lap, fingers tangled in his hair. At this point, it seemed, Kisumi had already fallen asleep, and Asahi was gazing dazedly out the window. The video was short and cut off on the right by the back of Ikuya’s hair maybe, but it was enough to squeeze the distant joy out of his throat and replace it with an anguish he didn’t even have the wherewithal to feel yet. He just knew that last night already felt like it had been surpassed by several decades.

He closed out of the videos, briefly texted Kisumi to let him know when he made it home, then slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned away, allowing his feet to move without his assistance.

There wasn’t much thought involved in the next hour or so. He was hardly aware of the time even. He just floated, hyperaware of the stifling suffocation, but going through whatever motions were required as though nothing was happening to him on the inside. His feet took him back to the car, and he sat there with a cold engine for an amount of time he didn’t monitor. Then suddenly he was driving, and the yawning absence of Kisumi’s presence was overwhelming, but his eyes refused to leave the road to acknowledge the empty seat next to him. His body was driving as though thoroughly traumatized by the near-accident that also already seemed to have happened years in the past.

He didn’t know where he was going, but it wasn’t back to Kisumi’s apartment, and it wasn’t to his dorm either. He would have thought muscle memory would take him to his sister’s café or to the recreation center maybe, but instead, he found himself pulling up to the community pool down the street from Haru’s apartment. He was surprised, but didn’t spend much time thinking about it. He just locked the car and wandered into the building until he ended up in the pool room and found Makoto standing off to the side in his uniform, smiling down at a gaggle of five-year-olds crowded around his legs.

There was a lot of general movement going on in the pool already, but somehow Asahi’s ears picked up the familiar rhythm of Haru’s free stroke, and he glanced over to catch a glimpse of him doing laps in the very last lane. Interestingly enough, Asahi’s feet took him to Makoto, and he stopped just a couple yards short of the huddle of dripping little swimmers.

“Okay, can I get everyone’s ears here? Ears, everybody, ears. Shh …”

Makoto put a patient finger to his lips, and the giggling kids copied him. They all made shushing noises and looked around at each other as though making sure they were all doing the same thing. A good many of them returned their gaze attentively to Makoto, but bounced their knees anxiously as though struggling to stay still.

“Very good,” Makoto praised. “Did everyone get a drink of water?”

“Yeeeees,” chorused the tiny voices.

“Alright then, I think it’s time to go exploring, what do you think?”

A collective excitement bubbled up in the little huddle and the kids started jumping with cheers and raising their hands.

“I want to look for mermaids!”

“Can we find treasure?”

“I wanna- I wanna find blue fish!”

Makoto nodded, listening to every little voice and somehow managing to acknowledge them all at the same time. “Mermaids, treasure, blue fish … What else?”

One little boy raised his hand so high he looked like he was about to take off. “Ooh, a sunken pirate ship!”

“A sunken pirate ship?” Makoto gasped with a shining smile. He leaned over and looked at each of them with an adventurous twinkle in his eye. “I heard someone found a pirate ship last week. Should we go see if it’s still there?”

“Yeah, yeah!”

“Okay, do we all have our goggles?”

“Yes!”

“Let’s line up one at a time and get our kickboards, and then once we’re _all_ ready, we’ll go exploring together, okay?”

“Okay!”

“One at a time, no running.”

The huddle dispersed, falling into a line as they all hurried over to the rack of kickboards and began picking their favorites. It wasn’t until then that Makoto noticed Asahi standing there. And it also wasn’t until then that Asahi noticed the little hand holding tightly to two of Makoto’s fingers.

“Asahi,” Makoto greeted with a bright smile. “I didn’t see you walk up. What a surprise.”

“Coach Tachibana?”

Makoto’s eyes turned down to the mousey little girl next to him. She had wide brown eyes and a bob of shiny black hair. Her hand that wasn’t already holding Makoto’s clung to the fabric of his uniform and she stepped aside to hide behind his leg, bashfully glancing between Makoto and Asahi. Makoto smiled and knelt to her level.

“It’s okay, Hana-kun. This is my friend, Asahi. He’s super friendly. Can you say hi?”

Asahi and the little Hana girl stared at each other.

He felt like he was in a daze, sluggishly trudging his way through a pool of mud, trying to figure out why this little girl was so familiar to him when he knew he’d never seen her before. But when she mumbled a tiny hello and then threw her face into Makoto’s shoulder, he realized Hana was the name of the timid little girl Makoto had mentioned reminded him of Hayato. And the resemblance in those mannerisms was, in fact, so blindingly bright that it punched Asahi violently in the stomach. He grimaced.

Makoto patted the little girl’s back and stood again, carrying her with him. She wrapped her legs around his waist and turned her cheek on his shoulder, reaching up to poke his neck. Makoto’s eyes turned back to Asahi, and when he saw the look on his face, he frowned. Asahi watched the immediate instinct to comfort and console kick in behind Makoto’s green eyes.

“Asahi, what’s wrong?”

His spine trembled, because he’d suddenly gotten dunked into the memory of meeting Hayato for the first time, and he realized that introduction had gone eerily the same, down to Hayato reaching up to pinch Kisumi’s chin as he clung to his torso and everything.

His eyes stared at Hana, disquieted by how small she was, how thin, how fragile, how young.

“Hey, Asahi,” Makoto called, his voice a little more urgent. “Did something happen? Is everything okay?”

He adjusted Hana so that her weight was resting on his hip and Asahi met his gaze again, unsure what it meant to speak anymore. His head shook on it’s own, and he wasn’t sure what that was supposed to convey. Everything was not okay, but when his eyes glanced to the group of five-year-olds, who were now calling for Makoto’s attention, he suddenly didn’t know what had possessed him to come here in the middle of Makoto working.

“It’s not,” he heard his voice say quietly.

“Coach Tachibana!”

Makoto turned, brow still bending with a concern that had just burrowed a little deeper. “A-Animal stretches,” he said to the kids, forcing himself to remain present with them. “Everybody has to do animal stretches before we get back in the water, okay? Hana-kun, go pick out a kickboard, please.”

He set the little girl on her feet and she sauntered over to the rack against the wall. Makoto, hands free, placed a strong grip on Asahi’s arm and ushered him to a nearby bench.

“Here, sit down.”

Asahi obeyed numbly, eyes wandering back to the kids again, watching them as they flapped their arms and stomped in circles, screeching and roaring and giggling in each other’s faces. Children were so … young.

“What happened?” Makoto asked, crouching low to meet his eyes.

Asahi’s heart sunk back in his chest and he tore his gaze away from the kids, head shaking again. “I can’t … I shouldn’t be … You’re working … I-I’ll tell you when you’re done.”

Makoto grimaced. “Are you sure? Is it an emergency?”

Asahi’s breath started to go thin again and he did his best to keep it under control, but he felt a heat rising in his face and even though he shook his head again, he knew he was doing a poor job of being convincing. “No. No, it’s not.”

That strong hand returned to his arm — actually, maybe it had never left, but Makoto’s grip was something reaffirming, like a tether keeping him grounded, while his pulse rose to his ears and tried to get away from him. He could hear the kids laughing, and it hurt his soul something awful, but for the life of him he couldn’t get his mind to settle on anything other than their naivety. His eyes kept shifting to them.

“Asahi,” Makoto said, his voice sturdy and just as grounding as his touch. “Take a deep breath, please.”

Asahi obeyed. He didn’t even realize he’d started hyperventilating.

“Did something happen with Kisumi? Is he okay?”

Asahi’s chest tightened. The grimace happened automatically. His hands began to tremble. “Mm mm,” he grunted, head shaking vigorously, because he couldn’t get his lips to part anymore.

Makoto stood, but his hand stayed on Asahi’s shoulder. “Haru!”

Those very distinct splashes stopped immediately, and Haru popped his head up out of the water. He blinked over at them for all of two seconds, then swam to the end of the lane and pulled himself out of the pool. He threw a towel over his head and sauntered over, mumbling excuse me’s as he stepped through the giggling kids. His blue eyes stared blankly at Asahi for a moment, and then they turned to Makoto, whose grip tightened reassuringly on Asahi’s shoulder as he moved his voice close to Haru’s ear.

“I don’t know what’s going on, but something’s wrong,” he mumbled, tone urgent but collected. “I think something happened with Kisumi. Can you sit with him, please? I have to get back to the kids. I’m almost done.”

“Is he hurt?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Coach Tachibana!”

“Find out what happened, okay? And keep him calm. Asahi, everything’s going to be okay,” he said, raising his voice for Asahi to hear him clearly. He breathed a thank you to Haru, who nodded, then rejoined the kids at the edge of the pool.

Asahi was still watching them, he’d been watching them the whole time, and he felt like he was going to grow an ulcer from all the knots twisting in his stomach. All he could do was blink when Haru dropped his towel on top of his head. In some weird way, he distantly understood that this was Haru’s way of being comforting, but he didn’t have the cognizance to fully appreciate it.

“I’ll be right back,” Haru said, and the moment he walked away, Asahi shivered.

He watched Makoto get in the pool and put on a smile for the kids as they took turns jumping in, trusting his arms to keep them from sinking as he held them out to each of them and caught them halfway through their splashes.

“Exploring” was apparently a flutter kicking drill. Makoto used two lanes to spread the kids out and had them stretch their bodies out on their stomachs and look for treasure and fish and sunken pirate ships at the bottom of the pool as they put their faces in the water and kicked their feet, fingers clinging to the board in front of them.

It was cute, but Asahi couldn’t find it in him to acknowledge that kind of reality in this moment. He just stared with an unblinking gaze, quietly spiraling into a place he was unfamiliar with. It bothered him, watching these kids. He was nauseated by their innocence — not annoyed, but full of an amount of grief that was overwhelming to him. Children didn’t comprehend grief the same way that adults did, and they shouldn’t ever have to. Innocence was supposed to protect them from that. Yet, some hundreds of miles away there was an eight-year-old boy who was probably dying, and Asahi wondered just how well that little boy understood that.

Haru returned with a bottle of water, and Asahi accepted it, but never drank from it. He knew he should have spoken up right away, but for the longest time they simply sat in silence, and Haru didn’t pressure him. Asahi took his time, sorting through emotions he still couldn’t fully comprehend, much less acknowledge. He was almost numb, but also very aware that everything was wrong, very aware that it all hurt, he just didn’t know what belonged where and why. So he tried to organize it, put everything in certain places to be recognized in a relevant order if that was possible, but it was hard. Every time he caught one thought, another flew up in front of him, and then both of them got away, and he was back to staring at the kids and simply feeling sick.

It wasn’t until he realized that trying to dissect his sense of sorrow, within the aching sympathy he had for another family’s tragedy, was not going to happen within the space of time that he was sitting on this bench that he finally ripped his eyes away from the pool and told Haru everything.

Haruka listened quietly. His expression never changed, but something swam up in the back of his eyes that resonated with an understanding that allowed Asahi to feel a fraction calmer. He couldn’t tell what effect the news had on Haru, but his friend heard him, and that was somehow enough to quiet the knots in his stomach until Makoto’s class ended.

The two swimmers sat quietly on the bench, watching as all the kids’ parents dropped in one at a time to pick up their child and exchange words with Makoto about their progress. Makoto was very kind, very patient, and very appreciative every time one of the parents presented him with some kind of gift — and there were a lot of them, mostly neatly packaged cookies or a small box of candies. Later, Asahi would learn that this was a regular thing that exclusively happened to Makoto, and there had already once been an issue with the sheer number of mostly moms that had been so kind as to leave him gifts at the front counter whenever they missed him at the pool, because they sometimes liked to drop by even when their child wasn’t in his class. Later, Asahi would also learn that Haru and Makoto had once grappled through a three-day argument about it.

“Thank you, Tachibana-kun,” the last mother cooed, once they had finished their conversation. She bowed, but kept her smiling eyes on Makoto the whole time.

“My pleasure,” Makoto nodded, though his gaze was already wandering back to Hana, who was reaching out a hand to him. He crouched down and giggled when she gave him a long hug. He patted her back. “Hana-kun, I’ll see you next week. Say hi to Mrs. Kitty for me, and give her a nice big treat from me, okay?”

Hana nodded, and then took her mother’s hand and waved as she was led away. Makoto waved back and waited until they were gone from the pool room before allowing his smile to slide away. He turned his shoulders and walked over to the bench.

“Asahi, are you any feeling better?”

Asahi, who had also watched little Hana walk away, turned his eyes up to the worried crease on Makoto’s brow. “I’ll be okay,” he muttered.

“What happened?”

A ghostly silence settled over the three of them, and it brought another chill to Asahi’s spine. His gaze dropped and he held his elbows, trying not to allow his shoulders to tense with a new wave of dread. The whole situation felt incredibly surreal, having to convey such gut-dropping news to other people. And Makoto, most especially, he knew would not take it very well. The gold-hearted man was sensitive enough on his own, always so concerned with how other people were feeling, he really didn’t need the added pressure of actually knowing Hayato on a personal level, of having spent carefully crafted time teaching him and helping him grow. Asahi had been informed, during one of those nauseating conversations of Kisumi ushing and gushing over their friend, that Hayato had been Makoto’s very inspiration for wanting to teach and work with kids. Asahi didn’t want to break his heart. He felt there should be some kind of way to turn the clock back several hours and whisk away the situation altogether.

“Hayato’s sick,” Haru said. His voice was calm. There were no added inflections. It was a simple statement, and yet somehow Asahi could feel the very careful why that Haru was choosing to relay this to his partner.

Makoto’s expression shifted. It was slight, but the trepidation was very easy to read. He kept his eyes on Haru as though he was trying to read into that statement without having to ask any questions, but he seemed very unsatisfied with whatever answers he found in Haru’s eyes. Asahi watched his fingers tap his stomach.

“Did his fever come back?” he asked, and the very tone of his voice trembled with fear, because he already knew this was something different.

Both Haru and Asahi shook their heads. Another beat of silence fell between them, but Haru broke it first by standing and taking Makoto’s hand.

“Sit down.”

Makoto shook his head. He squeezed Haru’s fingers, but resisted being pulled to the bench. “No, just tell me.”

“Makoto …”

“I can’t move, Haru-chan,” he admitted breathlessly. He attempted a smile, but it was weak. “Just tell me what it is, please.”

“He has cancer,” Asahi said quietly.

Makoto made a small noise in his throat that sounded very similar to the moan of pain Asahi had heard from Kisumi earlier. The six-foot-three brunet lost the function of his knees, but he and Haru both seemed to anticipate it, so his drop to floor was slow, almost like he intentionally sat himself down. But by the look on Haru’s face, Asahi knew better than to assume so.

“Makoto …”

He pulled on Makoto’s hand again, gesturing back to the bench, but Makoto was already shaking his head. He pulled his hand from Haru’s and waved him back, communicating in silence that Haru just let him be where he was. He was already rubbing his fingers over his forehead, head leaning down so Asahi could barely see his face. Haru watched his partner very closely, his eyes a kind of fierce Asahi hadn’t yet seen. Still, there wasn’t much movement in his expression, but his jaw did flex under pressure, and he crouched down by Makoto’s side, fingers pinching the hem of his shirt.

“What type of cancer?” Makoto asked, voice directed at his knee.

“Neuroblastoma.”

Makoto lifted his head, a look of shock to his eyes that were already glossed over. “He’s eight,” he said, as though this was something of heavy significance.

Asahi’s stomach turned, because he didn’t understand, and it was very clear that Makoto did. “Y-Yeah.” And it came out as a partial question that went unanswered.

“What … What stage?” Makoto asked, though by the tone of foreboding, it seemed he already knew.

“Three.”

He turned his face away, covering his mouth with his palm, and the tears welled up quickly. “Where’s Kisumi?”

“On his way home. I took him to the train station a couple of hours ago.”

Makoto turned his somber green eyes back to Asahi, wiping the tears away as they fell. “When did you find out?”

Asahi shook his head. “Not long before he left. We were on our way back from the park, when his mom called. He completely zoned out. We almost got into an accident.”

“Oh my god,” Makoto cried, and for whatever reason the tears came out faster. “Are you okay?”

“We didn’t hit anything,” Asahi said quickly, hands automatically reaching out, though he was unsure what to do with them.

Haru leaned on his knees and swiped Asahi’s unopened water bottle from the bench. He twisted the cap off and held it out to Makoto, who shook his head and waved it away.

“It was close, but we’re fine,” Asahi continued, gaze shifting to Haru several times with a silent hope that the other could somehow stop the flow of tears, but he did nothing of the sort. The moment Makoto rejected the water, he simply put the cap back on the bottle and set it to the side. Then he sat back and wrapped his arms around his knees, one hand reaching back up for Makoto’s sleeve, like silently stating that he was there in case Makoto needed him.

“Okay,” Makoto breathed, still wiping at his face. He nodded, mostly to himself it seemed. “Good. I’m glad you’re both okay.”

He sniffed and took a moment to gather up his composure. His hands were shaking and it took a good minute, but he found a breath to catch, and the tears at least began to reel themselves back.

“Did Kisumi say anything about when he’d be back?”

Something sour turned in Asahi’s stomach and his gaze fell to the floor this time. “No.”

Makoto nodded, and just the presence of the motion carried a sense of understanding that Asahi didn’t get. He nodded as though he was glad Kisumi’s return was up in the air, and that went even more sour.

“Makoto,” Asahi said quietly, gathering his courage as best he could before he raised his eyes again. “You know what neuroblastoma is?”

Makoto nodded. “It’s a nerve cancer. It can show up in a lot of different places, but it usually starts around the kidneys. One of the kids from another class has a little brother who had it a couple years ago.”

“And he’s okay?”

Makoto nodded, but it was very hesitant. “Yeah,” he said, his voice small.

“It’s curable then.”

“Well … They can get rid of it, yes, but that all depends on the specificities of the situation, and there’s always the possibility of it coming back. The kid’s brother was just barely a year old when they caught it. Neuroblastoma is most common in children under five. It’s much easier to deal with, the younger they are, and if the cancer cells haven’t metastasized, then they’ll usually go through surgery to get it removed, but …”

The words stopped and a crease of uncertainty stained his brow this time as he looked into Asahi’s eyes as though extremely unsure whether or not he should continue. But Asahi could already practically hear the rest of it in the back of his mind. Again, in hindsight, he shouldn’t have asked, but it would have been harder to hear it for the first time later.

“What happens when it’s diagnosed in an eight-year-old?”

Makoto’s chest expanded and there was a long moment of them just staring at each other, trying to decide what the better option was in this moment. Realism or optimism?

“Nothing good, Asahi,” Makoto whispered, and it was the single eeriest thing Asahi had ever heard come out of his mouth. Even Makoto noticed that, it seemed, as he suddenly shuddered and tossed his head as though forcing himself back into a character that Asahi was no longer convinced was entirely natural. “But … l-let’s not think about that right now,” he mumbled, rubbing his palms along his thighs as he dropped his gaze. “We don’t know everything, right? Maybe Kisumi will come back with good news.”

The hush was distinctly uncomfortable this time, the kind that tempts you to fidget because it peels the comfort back from your spine. There were still several people in the pool room, but it felt as though a bubble had expanded around the three of them, and they might as well have been sitting in silence in a dark empty room where the only thing that could be heard was the imminent approach of a kind of change not a single one of them wanted.

He thought of Kisumi sitting with his head tilted down on the train, thought of the shadow of darkness clouding around him, and his stomach knotted with a swell of nausea, this time so intense that a quiet grunt of pain escaped through his nose and he slouched lower, curling his arms around his waist.

Oh. It was word vomit.

“I kissed Kisumi last night.”

“What?” his friends chorused, both picking their heads up to look at him with very nearly the same expression of surprise.

Asahi’s gaze went out of focus, landing hazily on the pinch of Haru’s fingers still holding onto Makoto’s sleeve. “I kissed Kisumi,” he repeated, “last night, when I walked him home. We were … We had the whole day … For two minutes …”

His throat swelled up so fast that his heart started beating in alarm, and he looked up at Makoto directly with a pained crease to his brow that he couldn’t control. “Two minutes,” he repeated, shocked by how breathless his voice had gone. “He was happy for two minutes.”

A realization Asahi didn’t understand lit up like a flashing siren in Makoto’s green eyes and he stood up from the floor, immediately reaching out a hand. “Asahi, come stay with us for a little while, okay?”

Asahi reached back automatically, perplexed by how visibly his own hands were shaking. Makoto pulled him up from the bench and his large engulfing fingers closed around his tightly. He didn’t let go.

“Come on, Haru,” he said quietly, reaching out to his partner with his other hand.

Once on their feet, the three of them left the building, and they took their bubble of silence with them.

* * *

Haru drove the car back to his apartment. It took them all of something like forty-five seconds to get an eighth of a mile down the road and park again, but it was better than numbly trying to walk that distance on unsteady feet. Asahi followed Haru and Makoto into Haru’s home and dazedly did everything Makoto’s guiding motions prompted him to, which found him sitting on the edge of the couch, staring at the floor, while Makoto dug through Haru’s drawers for a fresh set of clothes and Haru spent a good while in the kitchen.

By the time Makoto had encouraged Asahi to change into a cozy sweater and a pair of shorts, the apartment had filled itself with the warm scent of something incredible. Asahi’s stomach responded to it with a growl, but Asahi himself just sat back on the couch and mindlessly flipped through channels on the television when Makoto put the remote in his hand.

He didn’t land on anything, just kept scrolling until Makoto came back from changing out of his uniform and called Sousuke to ask if he was in Iwatobi and could he please keep an eye on Kisumi. Sousuke’s stiff response to the news of Hayato’s health sent a shiver up Asahi’s spine that he could not comprehend. He’d never thought much of Sousuke, but Kisumi talked about him a lot. They’d never really gotten to know one another, but he knew Sousuke was something like a rock to Kisumi, and knowing Yamazaki would indeed be there when Kisumi eventually showed up in Iwatobi was both comforting and ignited a fury in Asahi’s veins that he couldn’t even begin to digest.

Makoto affirmed that Sousuke might as well inform Rin of what was happening, but should probably let him know not to bombard Kisumi with questions right now, as none of them really knew the full state of the situation. Asahi was just trying to figure out how Makoto had the wits about him to even consider who all needed to know what was going on. He never would have thought to have Yamazaki keep Kisumi company while he was away. And even though he knew Matsuoka was another friend of Kisumi’s that he often talked about and who probably should be informed that things were not okay, he never would have thought to call him up on Kisumi’s behalf. They’d never even had a conversation before, had they?

By the time Makoto got around to calling Ikuya, Haru came out of the kitchen with a large bowl of udon that he placed directly in Asahi’s hands. Asahi didn’t even have time to shake his head in protest before Haru insistently stuffed a pair of chopstick between his fingers and stiffly said, “Eat.”

He was starving, but he had absolutely no appetite, and Haru seemed keen on both accounts, because he stood there over Asahi with an unblinking stare until he grew uncomfortable enough that he adjusted the bowl in his lap and began shoveling noodles into his mouth. Satisfied, Haru turned away to make another couple of bowls for himself and Makoto.

It was achingly delicious. Warm, earthy, full of rotund flavors that all just tasted like comfort. It formed a knot of emotion in his throat that ended up stuck there the whole while that he slurped up the thick, chewy noodles and sipped on the broth. It stung his nose and emptied out his stomach, even though he was in the very midst of filling it with the substance of care and hospitality. He wanted to cry. His whole body was prepared to cry, and maybe Haru had put something in his bowl of noodles that was meant to make him do just that, but his eyes stayed dry, and he was irritated by that.

He still couldn’t sort his way through everything he was feeling.

He’d spent plenty of time over at Haru’s apartment before, but this ended up being very different. Normally, they would play video games, order a pizza, and/or watch scary movies when Makoto was out at work. If they had actual business to attend to, he would venture to Haru’s to watch whatever summer Olympic tapes they’d been assigned by their coach, or they’d hurt their brains to come up with their own training regimens that would have to be scrutinized by Seijuro the next day, and if it wasn’t grueling enough, they’d be in for one of the hellfire drill routines that he conjured up from the pits of misery. 

This time, there was nothing light like that to lift the atmosphere. The three of them sat in mostly silence as they ate their fill of udon and half-considered the game show that was playing on the television in the background. He wasn’t sure how they’d landed there.

Makoto took everyone’s bowls back to the kitchen when they were done eating, and as he cleaned their dinner mess, Haru moved the furniture around and laid out a futon for Asahi to sleep on. It wasn’t until he buried himself underneath a particularly cushy duvet and pressed his cheek into a puffy pillow that he realized how terribly tired he was. But he didn’t fall asleep immediately, and he knew he wouldn’t for a good long while.

He kept his chest pressed flat to the floor and his head turned to the side, staring blearily up at the TV while Haru and Makoto shuffled around the apartment for a while longer, occasionally mumbling something to each other in hushed tones, though their conversation was sporadic, and Asahi could tell that they were mostly doing that thing where they communicated with one another without very many words. Makoto crouched down in front of him after some time had passed and asked him if he needed anything, to which Asahi absently shook his head, and affirmed Makoto could turn the TV off by turning his head away from it to stare at the foot of the couch instead.

Makoto informed him they would be up in the loft and he could bother them if he needed to. He mumbled his thanks and closed his eyes, pretending that he planned on falling asleep. The lights were cut off, and he listened through the darkness, following Makoto and Haru’s movements as they climbed up the ladder and settled onto Haru’s bed. They went quite still after a very short period of time, and then the silence that descended was of the kind that put an uncomfortable pressure on his ears and made him afraid to breathe. Only vaguely did he hear the hum of late-night traffic and the purr of the refrigerator in the kitchen.

It was nearly one-thirty in the morning by the time his phone vibrated underneath the pillow and he pulled it out to find a clipped message from Kisumi, informing him that he was home. He squinted against the backlight, staring at those three little words with a rock in his stomach, willing for something else to pop up on his message screen — another text, a gif, a string of dumb emoji. It was a stupid thing to wish for.

He dragged his thumb across the screen and dialed Kisumi’s number, then pressed the phone to his ear and listened to it ring. He listened to it ring, listened to it ring. And then he listened to it ring, and he wanted to dissolve on the spot, maybe reappear in Kisumi’s room in Iwatobi and lay under the covers there with him instead.

He didn’t answer the phone.

And why would he?

Asahi hung up before he could be given the option to leave a message. He let the phone fall out of his lax fingers and turned his nose into the pillow, exhaling a breath he never knew he’d been holding, except it didn’t bring him any form of comfort or relief to let it go. His fingers curled into a fist and his spine trembled.

He wanted to cry.

It didn’t come.

Instead, there was a shift of movement from the loft, and a pair of feet climbed down the ladder, then ghosted across the living room and stopped somewhere close to Asahi’s head. They sat, and the weight of the movement was much too light to be Makoto’s. Asahi turned his head and looked up to Haru sitting cross-legged next to him, his blue eyes almost luminous in the dark of the shadows. There was pale enough light coming from the city lights through the balcony door that Asahi could just make out Haru’s vacant expression.

They didn’t say anything to each other, not for a while, and Asahi got the feeling Haru was shifting through a list of things he wanted to say, which was weird, because Asahi couldn’t imagine Haru’s list of thoughts to share out loud being much more than two items long. But clearly there was something on his mind, and Asahi elected to simply wait for it, because there was nothing for he himself to say at this point.

“Why did you kiss Kisumi?”

Asahi blinked. His body was too exhausted to bother with expression changes, but he was definitely taken aback by the question. He shrugged.

“Because I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Because I like him …?”

“Did he kiss you back?”

Asahi nodded, and then watched the minute tilt of Haru’s head as he pondered this response.

“So he likes you too?”

A slow rise of anguish expanded in Asahi’s stomach. “I think so,” he said quietly, though the thought of watching Kisumi disappear from the platform of the Shinkansen station dropped itself into that same anguish with a suffocating density. He angled his nose back into the pillow. “I don’t think he’s thinking about it right now.”

Haru’s pause was oddly comforting — one of those kindred moments where Asahi felt like he was being understood even though his friend didn’t explicitly say so.

“He didn’t answer your call,” he stated.

Asahi shook his head. Haru went back to thinking, and Asahi roiled in the realization he’d had standing on that platform, watching that train leave.

Kisumi would not come back the same. He already wasn’t the same. Asahi had watched him cry for the first time ever today. He’d listened to Kisumi cry before, over the phone, but he had never seen the tears on his face. That was new. And now, having his call go unanswered was also new. He shouldn’t have expected Kisumi to pick up, that was stupid. But the hollow of being left in silence was a gaping hole he’d never thought would open up in his chest. Kisumi had never once not answered his phone calls. Not once.

He pulled in a breath to counteract the sharpness of the pain and pushed himself up onto his knees, allowing the blanket to fall away from his shoulders. He stared down at the pillow.

“Haru, you and Makoto are together, right?”

Haru was quiet for a beat. “I don’t understand your question.”

Asahi turned his head to look at him. Those blank eyes of his were something else. “You and Makoto, you’re like a couple, aren’t you? You’ve never actually said anything about it; we’ve all just assumed.”

Haru tilted his head as though he still didn’t get the question. “Then what’s the point of saying anything? Did we need to?”

Asahi shrugged. “I guess not.” He shifted around to sit, and crossed his legs. “How long have you been together?”

“What?”

Asahi furrowed his brow. “How long have you been together?”

“We’ve always been together,” Haru said fairly quickly, as though this was a rather irritating question that he was truly struggling to understand. “Makoto’s mine.”

Asahi huffed out a breath, shoulders dropping, because, knowing Haru, that made some bizarre kind of sense. He decided not to prod more on it, there wouldn’t have been any point. “Makoto is mine” was the answer, and that was that.

“How do you feel when he cries?” he asked instead.

Haru’s lips twitched. “I don’t like it.”

“What do you do?”

“Asahi, you ask weird questions.”

Asahi pursed his lips. “No, Haru, I ask normal questions. You’re an alien.”

“I let him cry,” Haru said, eyes steady and unamused. “If Makoto’s sad, then he should feel sad. I don’t like it, but he can’t be happy until he’s sad, so I let him cry.”

Asahi grimaced. “What?”

“You don’t know how to be together with someone, do you?”

Asahi stiffened, and he felt the heat immediately rise in his cheeks. He would have been glad for the shadows, but they probably didn’t hide it all. He shifted his eyes away. “That probably doesn’t matter right now.”

“It matters,” Haru said simply. “Kisumi’s going to cry, so you should just let him.”

“But it makes me feel sick.”

“Then cry with him.”

Asahi’s brow pinched and he looked back up. Haru’s gaze never changed. It was such a straightforward answer for him. Haru was a straightforward being. Though, admittedly, his frame of thinking was sometimes so simple that it was intensely hard to understand. Asahi wasn’t sure how Makoto did it, but maybe that just came with the territory of be claimed by Haru. They had “always been together” after all. It probably wasn’t something for Asahi _to_ understand.

“That doesn’t make any sense to me,” he admitted.

“It probably will eventually,” Haru said, which wasn’t much help at all, but he was already standing as though he knew there wasn’t anything else he could say in this moment that _would_ be helpful. “He’ll be back, Asahi.”

Asahi’s throat tightened. He narrowed his eyes at the floor as a burn stung his nose. Haru wandered into the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, closed it, and then shuffled back through the living room and dropped a water bottle into Asahi’s lap on his way back to bed. Asahi drank it this time.


	13. Chapter 13

He spent the first week walking around campus with Kisumi’s schedule tucked into his pocket. He already had it well-memorized at this point, since he’d spent so much time the first couple weeks of the new semester getting it wrong and having to recheck what new classes he was in. But after returning to his dorm room Sunday night and receiving no response when he texted Kisumi, and no answer when he called, he’d spent a good half hour scribbling down building names and room numbers and learning who each of his professors were. He’d told himself it was just a precaution, most likely Kisumi had already emailed them all to inform them he’d be out of class for a little bit, and maybe he’d asked for the coursework in advance to work on from home until he got back. But an unnerving pit of distress settled at the bottom of Asahi’s gut when he walked into each one of Kisumi’s classrooms and received a look of surprise every time he gave a brief synopsis of Kisumi’s reason for being absent.

Most all of his professors were tender and understanding about it, thanked him for letting them know, and assured him they’d be in contact with Kisumi about any assignments he would need to make up. His lab professor, on the other hand, was unimpressed, and sent Asahi away with a simple, “If he’s not going to be here, then he’s going to fail. I don’t have time to concern myself with his excuses.”

Had Asahi not already been weighed down by the excessive ton of his own muddled emotions, he most assuredly would have dared to stick out his chest and clap back real hot and real quick on such a response. But as it was, he didn’t have the energy to act on the simmer of anger that boiled in his stomach. The pettiness was ridiculous. And, in his own opinion, that lab professor should be fired, as he had no right to teach with a careless attitude like that, but Asahi had other things to focus on. So, the second week, he turned his attention to dropping in on Kisumi’s various clubs.

He had formed somewhat of a script after speaking to all of his teachers, so he was acting mostly on muscle memory by the time he got in front of Kisumi’s fellow club members. Most of them were well acquainted with Asahi at this point, as he had previously spent a lot of time showing up at the end of meetings to drag Kisumi away from their social circles that he most certainly would have spent all night in. He’d seen a lot of them at events and gatherings and occasional parties that Kisumi had insisted he couldn’t attend alone. Asahi was generally well-liked by Kisumi’s peers, and so, unlike walking into Kisumi’s cold classrooms, he was greeted very warmly each time he showed up to a club meeting throughout the week. And their reactions woke him up from the very nearly calloused haze he’d been wandering through, trying to make sure Kisumi’s bases were covered.

Kisumi’s business community group was distraught. They halted everything they’d been doing to usher Asahi into a seat and crowd around him with furrowed eyebrows, asking him questions and insisting that he absolutely had to let them know if there was anything they could do for Kisumi.

A girl from kendo club started crying, because apparently she had a little sister that had passed away from leukemia just over a year ago, and this did not at all make Asahi feel any better. He spent nearly two hours in the dojo, listening to the girl talk about her experience while everyone else huddled around them and wiped their eyes with tissues.

Several people from the video production club took him out for ramen and started formulating an outline for a short film they wanted to put together to lift Kisumi’s spirits. They told Asahi to keep coming back so that they could stay informed and he could share whatever knowhow he had about what would make Kisumi feel better.

The basketball club was out of season, but they were still holding practices and a lot of Kisumi’s teammates liked to join the pick-up games at the rec center, so Asahi visited them too. They might have been the most upset about the news, and Asahi found himself deeply perplexed by all the love and care so many people at their university had for Kisumi.

His best friend was something of a social butterfly. He’d always known that, and he’d seen a lot of the interactions he had with so many of these people, but for whatever reason, he’d never thought about how much compassion they actually had for him. Or, he’d never seen it working on this kind of level, in this kind of lighting, and he was moved in a way that simply made him feel odd. It just added itself on top of the pile of emotions he couldn’t sort through, and he knew it should have been something helpful, something inspiring, something warm and touching that he should find a way to let Kisumi know about, but all he could think about was how week two ended and he hadn’t heard a word from his absent friend.

Homework Saturday found him sitting alone at the bar in the café, staring at his notes from his pedagogy class and realizing he’d only scribbled down half the points from the lecture. He was missing two of the components for creating a lesson plan, which meant he either had to skim through his textbook or find the power point on the class link and look up the right slide. Right now, he had the drive for neither, so he flicked his pencil to the side and dropped his forehead in his hand.

“Asahi, please eat, it’s going to get cold,” Akane said, peeking at his untouched curry rice.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled.

She stretched up on her toes and leaned over the counter to collect his school work and slide it off to the side. Then she picked up the bowl of food she’d made for him and sat it directly under his nose. She pulled his wrist away from his face and slapped a pair of chopsticks in his hand.

“I didn’t ask you if you were hungry. I told you to eat,” she said, propping a fist on her hip. Her lips were pinched with a maternal sternness that kept the fire lit in her eyes. She wasn’t asking at all. She was demanding.

He sighed out a breath, his movements slow as he pulled the bowl close and mumbled a half-hearted “Itadakimasu” into his rice, before humoring her with a small bite that he elected to chew for much longer than was necessary. The way she stood over him reminded him of Haru peering him down until he took a bite of udon, except that Akane didn’t turn away and leave him to it, because she knew if she did, he wouldn’t finish it.

It was a long while before she relaxed enough to lean her elbows on the counter.

“You still haven’t heard from him, huh?”

“I’ve called him thirty-three times,” Asahi said, his tone emotionless as he propped his chin in his palm and stared at the tip of his chopsticks as though they were interesting. “He hasn’t picked up once.”

“Makoto-kun said you guys had a friend over there checking in on him.”

“Kisumi hasn’t been talking to him much. Yamazaki met him at the train station when he got there, but Kisumi refuses to get out of the house unless Hayato has to go somewhere, and Yamazaki apparently doesn’t get to linger around long enough for him to talk.”

“Any news on Hayato?”

“He started chemotherapy on Tuesday. That’s the last thing I heard.”

Akane pulled a breath in through her nose and let it out patiently. “Eat, Asahi,” she said quietly.

He turned his attention back to his curry rice, and she watched him chew and swallow for a little while, checking over her shoulder every now and then to make sure Tsukushi was still asleep in his travel crib. The café was empty at the moment, but that wasn’t abnormal for three o’clock on a Saturday. The flow of customers would start to pick up again within another hour or so. Asahi was mildly grateful for the quiet.

“Hey, Asahi,” Akane said, dropping her voice underneath the din of traffic passing by in front of the shop as though she didn’t want to be heard.

He looked up to find her eyes watching him with a tenderness he wasn’t sure how to interpret. It looked timid, concerned, unsure, and somehow still so very maternal. Akane was usually quite fiery and confident, like him, like their parents. It was odd to see her looking at him with so much trepidation.

“What happened after you left here, that night of your birthday?”

His jaw set itself back. “What do you mean?”

He hadn’t told her about the development in his and Kisumi’s friendship, mostly because he was no longer sure if there was one. It didn’t have all that much to do with him not wanting to talk to her about it. He didn’t have any qualms with sharing his life details with his older sister. He and Akane were quite close. They usually kept each other up to date about everything.

When he had made his way to the café to tell her the news the day after Kisumi left, she had removed her apron and sat on the stool next to him to join him in a contemplative silence while she folded her fingers between his and rubbed his arm. It wasn’t about a lack of understanding he feared he might receive, telling his sister he had shared a kiss with his best friend. He just simply wasn’t all that convinced that the moment in question had actually happened, or, more specifically, that it even mattered anymore.

It had felt like a dream in the moment, and now, two weeks later, it was even more so. It had become the kind of dream you start to forget the moment you wake up, and he was aggressively numb to that at this time — because he was forcing himself to be. If he started thinking about that kiss and allowing himself to care that the prospective bliss of building a relationship with Kisumi had been ripped away from him the very moment he’d just started to think about it, then the mountain of emotions he was throwing his thoughts on top of would collapse in an epic mudslide that would probably crush him. And anyway, what was happening right now ultimately had nothing to do with him, which was why he could convince himself just enough not to be torn up about Kisumi ignoring his phone calls.

Akane had already leaned closer, sitting her chin in her palm. “You and Kisumi-kun were very … comfortable with each other that night. I know you took him home.” She tapped her fingers on the counter, lips pinched. “Did anything happen?”

A shiver rolled up Asahi’s spine. He pulled his eyes away from her. “It doesn’t matter what happened.”

“It seems to matter, I think,” she said quietly, folding her hands together. “It’s been really hard to get you to eat the past couple of weeks.”

He shifted on the stool and pushed the curry rice around in his bowl as though trying to comfort her concern without actually following through with finishing his food. “Hayato’s sick,” he stated, staring blearily at the red-brown mush. “Kisumi’s upset. I’m worried.”

“I know, but it kind of feels like there’s more to it than that.”

He wrinkled his nose, head dipping lower. “I just don’t know how to feel right now.”

She went quiet for a moment, and he could feel his pulse sleepily crawling up into his ears. When she spoke next, it was nearly in a whisper, and he might not have caught it, had she asked a different question.

“Did you sleep with him?”

An instant heat flared up in his face and he popped his head up as his stomach dropped out of his body. “No,” he exclaimed, shoulders tight. He didn’t mention that he very well might have, had a meteor not crash-landed in front of him and Kisumi before they got the chance.

“We …” He grimaced and turned his face away. “We just kissed.” He very nearly threw up, saying these words. He thought about throwing his stuff into his book bag and running out of the café before she could ask anymore questions, but it was already too late.

“Are you sure?”

He stuttered an incomprehensible grunt and grabbed at his hair with his fingers. His blushing face wasn’t helping his cause at all. “Y-Yes, I’m sure,” he said, trying not to shout. “That’s all that happened. I went home that night.”

“Okay,” Akane said, raising a hand in surrender. “I believe you.”

He breathed out a large exhale, but it did nothing to loosen the tightness of his chest.

“I kind of figured you were into him,” his sister said, head tilting calmly to the side.

He pinched his lips and let his eyes drift back up to her. “Since when?”

At this, she offered him a small smile. “Since the first time you came home raging up a storm about the annoying pink-haired kid in your class.”

He huffed and rolled his eyes away.

Akane giggled. “I assumed it was better not to say anything until you figured it out for yourself.”

“Yeah, well …” His shoulders sank. “It’s too late now,” he mumbled.

She frowned, crease of concern returning. “Why?”

He shook his head, stomach suddenly turning again. He picked up his book bag from the floor and started stuffing his books in it. “Doesn’t matter. I have to make a lesson plan for class. I’m gonna head home.”

“Asahi …”

“I’m fine,” he said, standing up to throw his bag over his shoulder.

Akane looked wholly unconvinced, but she straightened her back and reached her arms out to him. He stepped forward, leaning over the counter between them so that she could wrap her arms tightly around his shoulders. She held him for a long time, and he didn’t mind. He just buried his nose in her shirt and quietly gleaned as much comfort from the moment that he could before she finally released him with a kiss on his temple and he forced himself to walk away.

* * *

Halfway through week three, he found himself staring at the whiteboard in his psychology class, his gaze blurred over and unfocused. He saw nothing that his professor was writing on the board, and he heard nothing she was saying either. Instead, his ears were heavy with pressure, ringing with a pitch so enveloping that he hardly noticed it, and was completely unaware that no other noise was being filtered into his brain.

He flicked a pencil between his fingers, both elbows perched on the desk. His knee bounced underneath it, rattling the loose screw in his chair. Every fidgeting movement was absentminded, as the only thought he had was that there was a fist squeezing the muscle in his chest and he couldn’t breathe that way.

It was trying to make it pop was what it felt like, and he could feel the dying, frantic pulses clawing for life behind his ribcage, begging him to act. There had to be something that could be done. There had to be a way to know something, anything, about what was happening. It couldn’t just simply be left like this. There had to be more — more than a single dance, more than one goodnight kiss, more than passenger’s seat tears and a half goodbye.

There wasn’t supposed to be another goodbye. Asahi was supposed to have been free of that. He was supposed to have his own authority to decide when he would say goodbye and to whom, and he hadn’t planned on it being this way at all. Kisumi wasn’t supposed to be the one leaving. He wasn’t supposed to be the one with such an unsure and unsteady future. They were supposed to have been done with that sticky burden of never knowing when hello would bring them back together again. It couldn’t just simply be left like this.

“… by Stanley Schachter and Jerome Singer called the two factor theory of emotion. Anyone want to take a guess as to the focus of this theory? Shiina-kun?”

Asahi blinked, focusing his gaze, and realized he’d been staring directly at his professor, catching her eye with the intensity of his gaze, and he hadn’t heard the question. His classmates all turned to look at him, waiting for his response, and there was a long, pregnant pause of blinking eyes and heavy silence.

He pinned his pencil on the desk under his palm and pushed himself to his feet, swinging his book bag over his shoulder in the process. His fingers just barely thought to curl around his notebook as he turned and walked away. Chairs scooted noisily out of his way as he squeezed through the row and took the stairs up to leave through the door at the back of the room.

“Okay then. Anyone _else_ want to take a guess?”

He let the door clatter shut behind him. His fist trembled, clenching around the notebook in his hand. He turned his shoulders, head down, as he brushed through a group of girls that parted around him, giggling hysterically about something he didn’t catch.

The psychology building was a ten-minute walk from his dorm, and he took the sidewalks in silence, eyes watching scattered cherry blossoms brush across the pavement on the breeze. He’d never given active thought to pink as a color, but he decided it was the kind of beautiful that was too painful to look at. Cherry blossoms were a soft, round pink that blended quite naturally with the pink of Kisumi’s hair. That day at Ueno park, Kisumi had giggled up a storm, picking dozens of little flowers off of Asahi’s head, but Asahi had had a harder time catching all the petals that had caught themselves in the wild tangles of Kisumi’s hair.

He didn’t go up to his room. Instead, he stopped in the parking lot and slid into Kisumi’s car, dropping his book bag on the passenger’s seat.

He’d been driving the car around for the past few weeks, filled it up with gas twice, took it to get the tires serviced and the oil changed. And now he drove it across town where he pulled up in front of the Shigino real estate office and let himself in.

Katsumi was at the front desk with a client, thumbing through paperwork. He glanced up, when Asahi came in, and gave him a gentle smile, gesturing to a chair against the wall to silently inform him he’d be done momentarily.

Asahi sat, and there was nothing to do while he waited except to scroll helplessly through his phone as though something might have changed. Makoto had sent him a morning check-up, asking how he was doing, and he still didn’t bother to respond. Akane informed him for the fourth day in a row that she was going to make extra food for dinner so he should come by after practice and eat. There was nothing in his chat with Kisumi except a long, one-sided string of helpless monologuing.

_-i picked up ur mail ill just keep it at my place_

_-there was a slow leak in ur back tire i got it fixed_

_-Yua from kendo club has been wanting to talk to u do u want me to give her ur number?_

_-ur lab prof is an asshole im gonna beat him up for u_

_-Makoto and Haru r gonna get a cat i think they’re moving in together_

_-Kisumi just tell me ur ok_

“Asahi-kun.”

Asahi looked up to Katsumi smiling over the counter. The other client was gone. He stood and walked over.

“It’s been a minute, hasn’t it?” Katsumi said kindly, straightening a stack of papers. “Looking for a place finally?”

Asahi shook his head. “No. I just …” He clenched his jaw with hesitation for a brief moment, but pulled in a breath and forced himself not to flake out now. This might’ve been his only option for answers. “Katsumi-san, have you heard from Kisumi lately?”

Katsumi’s smile quivered with strain. He kept it up for all of five seconds longer, then allowed it to slide away with a sigh. He poked the bridge of his glasses and looked down at the papers on the desk.

“I haven’t, to be honest,” he said, his voice grave. He tried that smile again as he looked back up at Asahi, and it looked like it hurt. “It would appear he’s quite angry with me for not telling him about Hayato. His parents wanted him to stay focused on school, so they asked me to keep it quiet. They didn’t want to worry him until they absolutely had to.”

“How is Hayato?”

Katsumi grimaced softly. “He could be better. His first chemo treatment caused quite a bit of trauma for his body. He came down with another fever and was throwing up for a few days. They had to keep him at the hospital. I believe they released him at some point over the weekend. He’s just been really tired.”

“Would they be able to tell if it’s working at this point?”

Katsumi shook his head. “Not this early, no.” He heaved a heavy sigh and pulled his glasses from his face, brushing his forehead with his wrist. “Gods, I hate it for the poor kid. They had to put him to sleep just to give him the treatment, he was so freaked out.”

Asahi felt his brow bending. Something uncomfortable pinched the bottom of his spine. “How often does he have to go back?”

Katsumi shrugged. “Originally, they were going to give him consecutive treatments for a week and then let him have another three weeks to recover, but with how the first one went, I think they’ve already discussed changing it up.”

Asahi’s chest deflated. He slid his hands into his pockets and stared at the edge of the desk for a while. He figured Kisumi most likely would have gone with Hayato for his treatment, but he couldn’t imagine him reacting well to the side effects of it being such a disaster. He wanted to hear Kisumi’s voice. He wanted to hear the story from him. He wanted to run his fingers through his hair.

“Have … Kisumi’s parents said anything about him coming back to Tokyo?”

When he glanced back up, the look he met on Katsumi’s face seized a web of knots in his stomach. He tried to brace his knees, but he could already feel his legs trembling. Katsumi raked his fingers slowly through the back of his hair, the corner of his lips pinched. His eyes were full of pity and remorse and he eventually just turned his gaze off to the side as though he couldn’t quite look Asahi in the eye while he responded.

“There was quite a big blow up about that,” he said, voice quiet. “Genji called me the day after Kisumi got home, said they fought about it for three hours. He and Hina want Kisumi to be here, to focus on his studies, keep his life going as normally as he possibly can. They knew he’d react like this, which was why they’d tried to put it off as long as possible. Kisumi told them he was going to drop out of school.”

Asahi nearly lost his stomach again. He couldn’t stop his face from falling, from pinching into a grimace. His throat swelled.

“They’re still trying to talk him out of it, but he’s been adamant, says it’s not important anymore.”

He tried to stop his shoulders from shaking, but it didn’t work out very well and his eyes darted away in an embarrassed panic when Katsumi looked back at him and immediately frowned.

“Hey, Asahi-kun,” Katsumi said hesitantly. He started to reach out with an unsure hand. “Why don’t you take a seat? I’ll get you some tea —”

“No, it’s fine,” he breathed, face burning in humiliation at the weak little way his voice hissed through his teeth. “I have to go.”

He turned away, head dipped as though he could hide the burning red of his skin. He mumbled a clipped, “Thanks anyway” on his way out and tried not to slam the car door when he slid back into the driver’s seat. He was stiff pulling on his seatbelt, and his knuckles turned nearly translucent with how tightly he gripped the steering wheel. He rolled the windows down when he merged out into traffic and tried to let the breeze cool his skin.

There was a geyser steaming up from the soles of his feet, but he wasn’t allowing it to get up past his stomach. He tried to breathe, tried to calm his heartbeat, tried to rationalize. He was angry, and it was no surprise that this was the first definitive thing he knew how to feel over anything else. He’d always known how to be angry first. But there was nothing to lash out on at the moment, and he didn’t much have the right to anyway.

Kisumi had every valid reason in the world not to come back to Tokyo, not to finish school, not to leave his tragically ill little brother. He should stay in Iwatobi, shouldn’t he? It didn’t sound like things were going very well, and secretly, Asahi had been doing his own research, and everything he learned made him more intensely sick by the second. The odds were not in Hayato’s favor. He knew that. Kisumi, no doubt, probably knew that even more so. It made every bit of sense. It made every bit of sense. It made every bit of sense. And it wasn’t a jab at Asahi directly. Kisumi wasn’t trying to say that _nothing_ in Tokyo was important anymore. Of course he wouldn’t think that. And just because he hadn’t been responding to Asahi at all, didn’t necessarily mean that there was anything to be concerned about between them specifically. There was a lot on Kisumi’s mind. For sure, if the tables were turned and Akane had suddenly contracted a deathly disease, Asahi wouldn’t feel very much up to having casual conversations with anybody, and maybe he wouldn’t feel much up to wanting any kind of comfort from Kisumi either? He couldn’t really imagine that, but it was possible. He didn’t know what this felt like for Kisumi. He didn’t know, in all honesty, what kind of pain he was facing. He didn’t have room to judge that.

The anger didn’t go away though. It just lay at the bottom of his stomach in a low simmer and he carried it with him to practice that evening. The one good thing about having grown up in such a tumultuous household was that he knew how to bury his frustrations and keep them tempered when he really had to. Normally he didn’t, because it was a hassle. But he had more self-control than most people knew, so he was quiet during practice — sloppy, unfocused, and dreadfully slow, but quiet.

They were focusing on time drills today, which was unfortunate. He tried to push himself past the the wall of friction in his body, but his shoulders were stiff and the fire in his stomach was weighing him down like two-ton lava. His body was delayed, reacting to every whistle that called him to start. And on one particular 100m dash, he had to pause and break the surface for air, because his arms became heavy and he started floundering around without getting anywhere. It reminded him of middle school, when he’d up and forgotten how to swim freestyle after watching Haru swim. This was obviously different, but the panic of drowning for a couple of seconds still gave him a heavy-set scare, so he just let his hips drop to level himself and then switched to butterfly, hoping that muscle memory would help him get back across the pool.

“What are you doing, Asahi?” he heard Seijuro shouting over the rhythm of his splashing.

He ignored it, finished his 100m, and then stepped back up on the block the moment he pulled himself out of the pool, mumbling an excuse about a Charley horse. He could feel Haru’s eyes on him from a couple of lanes away, but he didn’t turn to acknowledge whatever blank-eyed look he was being given. He just shook out his limbs and asked Ryouta to give him another whistle.

He was still half a second too slow diving in. It took every burning ounce of energy he could muster up from his chest to swim as normally as he could make himself. He didn’t panic, and he didn’t switch his strokes halfway through, but he could feel his throat swelling even in the midst of gasping for air. He could feel his face grimacing every time it dipped under the surface. By the time he made it back to the starting block, it felt like he’d been flopping is arms around for three days.

He ripped the cap and goggles from his head, staring down at the unsettled surface of the pool with a heaving chest as water dripped from his hair. The muscles in his back trembled. He clenched the swim cap in his fist by his side.

“What’s going on?”

Seijuro crouched in front of him, but Asahi didn’t directly look up at him.

“What do you mean?” he said feebly, still trying to catch his breath.

“You’re supposed to be my hype man. You’ve been all over the place today. You’re much better than this.” He held the timer he’d been clocking Asahi on out in front of his face.

Asahi glanced at it with pinched lips. It was the slowest he’d swam since high school. He turned his eyes away.

“Prelims for the intercollegiate tournament start in two weeks, Asahi.”

“I know.”

“The best qualifying times by the end of July get to participate in the national championship this year.”

“I know.”

“Do you know what happens to the people with the best times at the national championship?”

He turned his head farther away, jaw tight. “Yes.”

“They get picked for the Olympic team, Asahi.”

He breathed a hot breath through his nose.

“The Olympics only happen every four years.”

“Fuck! I _know_ ,” he snapped, shooting up a glare.

Seijuro’s expression was stiff, authoritative, and unaffected. “Then what the hell are you doing?”

That same familiar burn stung the inside of his nose and his throat closed up. He made a face and turned his back, dropping into the water to sit at the bottom with his back to the edge of the pool. He closed his eyes, arms and legs crossed stubbornly, and let the air expel from his lungs to keep his body heavy. He only just heard Seijuro scoff out a breath and imagined him turning away to leave him to sulk, because no one said anything about him needing to get over himself and get out of the pool. So he just hovered there, listening to the labored pulse of his heartbeat working harder to make up for the air he wasn’t breathing in.

There was a fleeting moment in which none of this mattered to him. He loved swimming. He loved progressing. He loved beating his own times. He loved winning races. He _wanted_ to swim. He wanted to think he was good enough to be considered for something as prestigious as Japan’s national swim team. But it was insane how, for just a moment, something so monumental shrunk down into the smear of bug guts at the bottom of his shoe. For just a flittering instant, who cared?

But he did, and that instant was over. His heart beat his chest for not breathing for too long and he unfolded his limbs, pushing up with the balls of his feet to break the surface and gasp for a breath. His ears rang and his pulse squeezed his temple for a moment. Seijuro wasn’t standing over him anymore. When he looked, he found him with his shoulders leaning, arms crossed as he listened to Haru with a pinched expression several yards away.

“You alright, Shiina?” Ryouta asked, taking his eyes away from Hikaru in the next lane.

“I’m fine,” Asahi mumbled, finally pulling himself out of the water.

Practice was far from over, but he was done for the day, and no one stopped him when he draped his towel over his head and sauntered off toward the locker room. He stood in the shower, letting the steam curl up around him for almost half an hour. By the time he dried himself off and got his pants on, Haru appeared next to him.

“Have you talked to Kisumi?”

“Nope,” he sighed, pulling his shirt over his head.

“Something happened today,” Haru guessed. “You’ve been stiff for weeks, but today was bad.”

Asahi gave him a rigid smile. “Thanks, Haruka. You’re such a good friend.”

Haru’s straight frown was unamused. “Having an off day is fine. I don’t care about your times. You’ve got stuff going on and people are concerned. Makoto said you didn’t text him back this morning.”

“I was going to later.”

“What happened?”

Asahi clenched his jaw without a thought. His eyes stared at the locker in front of him with a soft glare. “Kisumi’s not coming back,” he said, slamming the door shut with an alarming amount of force.

He didn’t do anything after that, just stood there, gaze distant, numb to Haru’s quiet presence next to him. His arms hung limply by his sides.

“Who said?”

“I went to see his uncle today. Kisumi’s been arguing with his parents about wanting to drop out of school.”

“So they don’t want him to?”

“No, but I hardly think that matters.”

“If they don’t want him to, then he’ll be back.”

Asahi dropped his shoulders. It was very tempting to immediately latch onto that, but he would only allow himself to do that if it was true, and he didn’t know if it was true. Kisumi was very good at getting everything he wanted, he couldn’t imagine his parents were any kind of immune in a scenario like that.

“This is … a pile of fucking horse shit,” he breathed, dropping his forehead against the locker in defeat.

Haru turned and copied Asahi’s movements, also dropping his forehead onto the locker next to him. “Horse shit.”

Asahi gave him a side glance. For all the turbulence rocking around in his stomach, Haru’s intensely blank expression was somehow so misplaced in this moment that Asahi found himself coughing a snicker through his nose. Haru swung his eyes over to him, and that just made it worse.

“What?”

Asahi shook his head and looked back down at his feet. “Nothing.”


	14. Chapter 14

It was an afterthought, strolling through the mall for a gift. It had almost escaped his mind entirely, but week four had found him lying on his bed with his cheek pressed into the silky material of his bomber jacket, fingers tracing the embroidered trident on the back, when he’d suddenly snapped his head up and looked at his calendar. He’d gotten himself up and dressed immediately, and it was more a fleeting hope that dragged his feet through every store imaginable. He kept his hands in his pockets, and mostly wore a dissatisfied look of frustration, especially after a good couple hours of searching, because he couldn’t even begin to think what kind of birthday present would even be appropriate at a time like this.

And then he just felt stupid, because he knew he should have thought about it earlier. He should have carefully taken his time coming up with something that would bring a smile to Kisumi’s face, even if he couldn’t see it from five hundred miles away. There was a tiny thought that if he tried to mail Kisumi something, he might miss it if he decided to come back to Tokyo before it got there, but that was more a small bit of optimism than anything. He should do his best to find something nice for Kisumi, whether it got to him on time or not. Except …

What kind of birthday present do you give your best friend, who really means more to you than just being a best friend, especially after you kissed him that one time, except now he hasn’t talked to you in a month, because there was a sudden tragic revelation in his family and he had to leave you in Tokyo, and now you’re not sure that he’s really ever coming back and you have no idea of the actual state of him right now?

Would a nice watch suffice? The full collection of his favorite manga series? Some expensive cologne? A fancy sweater? Bullshit.

He dropped onto a nearby bench with a huff and leaned his head back with a frustrated groan. He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and hardly paid any attention when he picked a completely random number and put the phone up to his ear.

“What do you want?” Ikuya’s bored drawl said after two rings. He was pretending to be miffed, but in all reality, Ikuya didn’t normally answer his calls so quickly, so Asahi knew he was just covering up some kind of tenderness.

“Do you know how to give good gifts?”

“Good gifts for what?”

“Kisumi’s birthday is in like a week, and I have no fucking idea what to do.”

“Oh. Shit, I forgot about his birthday,” Ikuya mumbled. Asahi didn’t admit that he almost did too. “I mean, is it really a good idea to get him anything at all right now?”

“Well, I can’t just do nothing.”

“I know, but are you really going to ship him a handmade birthday card and a new pair of sneakers at this point?”

Asahi sighed and pulled himself out of his lean to rest his elbows on his knees. “That’s why I’m calling you.”

“Why me?”

“I don’t know, it was random.”

“Then hang up and call Makoto or something. I’m not good at this kind of shit.”

“You’re already on the phone. Also, don’t think I didn’t notice how quickly you answered.”

Ikuya puffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Stupid Asahi,” he grumbled. “It was just a reflex.”

“You normally make me call you twice.”

“There’s … a lot of shit going on right now. I mean, I’m not stupid … How are you?”

That shudder of discomfort rippled across his back for maybe the millionth time. He raked his fingers through his hair.

“I’m not …” He sighed. “It doesn’t really matter right now. I’m just trying to figure out something to do for him.” He pinched the bridge of his nose with his free hand and squeezed his eyes shut.

There was a pause, and Asahi waited it out. It was nothing abnormal to be left in a moment of silence with Ikuya on the other end of the line. Usually though, it wasn’t filled with so much awkward tension.

“Um … Haru told me about what happened between you and Kisumi,” he said timidly. “I’m pretty sure Makoto told him to keep it to himself, but it’s Haru, I guess. And he was particularly worried about you, which was interesting. He said you suck at swimming lately, and I asked him what was new.”

Asahi let out a half-hearted chuckle that was oddly painful sounding. “Fuck you.”

“Anyway,” Ikuya continued, and Asahi could practically see him shrugging it off. “We haven’t talked in a while, and I figured you’ve been feeling a certain way about Kisumi being gone, so … I’m glad you called — or something.”

A shy smile lifted in one corner of Asahi’s lips and he let a breath out through his nose. “Ikuya, you’re such a nice guy.”

“Shut up. That’s what friends do, stupid.”

His smile stretched just a bit more. Was it weird to miss being teased?

“And it does matter, by the way,” Ikuya said. “Someone you care about is going through something hard and it’s affecting you. It’s okay to admit that.”

Asahi shivered, smile sliding away just that quickly. He pinned his wrist between his knees. “Sure,” he responded under his breath, though it wasn’t so much a promise to admit to that.

“Makoto’s been busted up about it too. Poor guy is so sensitive about other people’s kids. Haru’s been trying not to make a fuss about him talking to Kisumi so much.”

“What?”

“Well, you know, Haru’s a bit possessive. Maybe a little more than a bit. I’m proud of him actually. He’s been really considerate lately. He cares sometimes.”

“No, what- … Makoto’s been talking to Kisumi?”

“Oh.” There was weight to it, hesitance, because he could hear the burning tremble in Asahi’s voice probably. “Only for the past week. He said it was hard to get a hold of him before. I think that Sousuke guy had to force Kisumi to take the phone. You know what, maybe forget I said anything about it, yeah?”

Well, it was too late for that. It wasn’t anger that swooped through his stomach this time, but it was something far worse, and he didn’t have a name for it. It was just crushing, like that fist had finally managed to squeeze the blood out of his heart. It just kind of popped, and when he stood, his thighs were trembling, so it wasn’t a very graceful transition as he turned to walk away.

“Asahi?”

“I’ll call you back.”

“Shit-”

Asahi hung up before Ikuya could say anything else. He didn’t know where his feet where going. He was just walking, heart in his ears, oblivious to the stream of shoppers he was occasionally bumping shoulders with. He dialed Makoto’s number and put the phone back up to his ear.

It also hardly took two rings for him to answer, but that was normal for him. “Asahi,” he breathed, as though relieved. “I’ve been trying to get in touch with you all week.”

“What the fuck, Makoto?” and it came out in a guttural growl that he had not prepared himself for.

“Oi!” scolded Haru’s voice in the background. He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised to have been put on speaker. There was a lot of rustling going on on the other end of the line. “What kind of shit way is that to greet a person?”

“It’s okay, Haru-chan,” said Makoto’s voice distantly, as though he’d pulled the phone away from his mouth. “Please don’t drop that. Asahi, I’m sorry. Are you okay?”

“No,” he said immediately, voice still shaking. “Why- What … You’ve been talking to Kisumi?”

“That’s why I wanted to talk to you,” Makoto said quickly. “Please don’t be mad. It’s not- … No, Mochi! No, no. Get down.”

There was more rustling, a gasp, a clattering noise, and a distressed moan.

“Haru, gods- … I told you not to leave that there.”

“There was nowhere else to put it.”

“But you know she likes to push things off the counter. No, Mochi. Down. Put her in the kennel until we’re done.”

“She doesn’t like it in there.”

“I know she doesn’t like it in there. It’s just for a minute.”

“She should be free.”

“Haru, please,” Makoto sighed, in a voice that was at least eighty percent done with his partner’s shit.

It took a good thirty seconds for the rustling to settle down, and then Makoto was breathing into the phone again.

“I’m sorry, Asahi. Please don’t be mad. I finally got a hold of Kisumi last week, but it was only because Sousuke happened to be with him when I was checking in. I’ve been trying to get him to call you back, but he just keeps saying he can’t. I think he’s afraid to talk to you.”

Asahi didn’t realize he had stopped walking until that moment. His body turned on it’s own and he pressed his forehead against a window display. “Why would he be afraid to talk to me?”

“I don’t know,” Makoto said, voice full of so much empathy it was as though he felt at fault. “I tried to ask him about it. He’s been so clammed up about certain things though. I think he’s really struggling to process a lot. He was really upset about Hayato’s first chemo treatment. It took so much out of all of them, and he hasn’t been getting along well with his parents, so he feels like he doesn’t really have anyone to talk to who actually understands what he’s feeling right now, and he wants to be with Hayato all the time, but he says just looking at him hurts so much, because he can see how weak he is. He’s just … really overwhelmed right now.”

Asahi’s knees gave in and his forehead slid down the glass as he crouched into a ball in the middle of the walkway. He could feel the various glances landing on his back, but he just stayed there on his toes with his knees to his chest and his head keeping him balanced against the base of the wall. It was back, the knot in his throat. His whole body shivered. He couldn’t speak.

“It’s not to hurt you, Asahi,” Makoto said, voice soft and kind. “I’m sure it’s not. Every time I mention your name, he just sounds sad. I think maybe he feels like if he talks to you he’ll just get that much more overwhelmed, and he can’t handle it right now.”

He tried to breathe, but it was so hard, he could barely get the words out when he exhaled. “It … It’s been a fucking month,” he moaned, voice muffled by his jeans.

“I know. I’m so sorry, Asahi. I’ll keep trying.” There was barely a breath in between, before Makoto did his best to sound more positive. “Do you want to come over? The place is a mess right now. Ikuya and Hiyori came to help us move the rest of my stuff the other day, so there are boxes everywhere, but we can make space if you want. You can meet Mochi. She’s a bit of a troublemaker,” he sighed. “But she loves to cuddle.”

He groaned into his lap, suddenly excessively exhausted. “I’m more of a dog person, Makoto.”

“Well, I figured as much, I suppose. Haru can make onigiri. It’ll make you feel better.”

His shoulders sank, and he was quiet for a long time. The trembling stopped, as though something in him just simply gave up and everything rolled off of his back, leaving him achingly empty, and onigiri sounded really good right now.

He exhaled another long, heavy breath. “Okay.”

* * *

In the end, he didn’t get anything in time. There was nothing good enough, and he didn’t want to embarrass himself by sending something stupidly irrelevant like a goodie basket full of chocolate. It was week five, and he was standing in the corner of the locker room in his uniform jacket, goggles hanging around his neck, swim cap tucked partway into the waistband of his jammers. His back was to the commotion of all the other swimmers getting ready at the other end of the room. He had wanted to wait until he could break away to somewhere quiet, but if there was even the smallest chance that Kisumi would answer the phone, he needed to hear his voice now.

Everything was shaking. He felt like he was going to throw up. He’d never been this nervous for a swim meet in his life, but here he was, trembling from head to foot with his face buried in the corner, and for the life of him he couldn’t get himself pulled together. He could have blamed it on the first tournament of the season, but he knew that was a load of hogwash.

He had to tap a few commands multiple times, his hands were shaking so badly. He stuck a finger into his left ear as he held the phone up to the other.

After so many weeks of silence, he didn’t expect an answer, but he was just as thoroughly crushed when Kisumi’s voicemail greeted him instead. He’d gotten into the habit of hanging up immediately, once the last frail hope to get through was squashed by that automated message, but this time he closed his eyes and pulled in a breath, forcing himself to pull it together long enough not to let the emotion crawl through his voice.

The phone beeped.

“Hey, Kisumi,” he said, tone heavier than he wanted it to be. He tried to fix it quickly. “I just um … I just w-wanted to wish you a happy birthday. I know it’s probably not … Y-You’re probably not thinking about it much right now. I feel like it’d be a bit of a crime not to say anything though.” His voice huffed as though prepping itself for a laugh, but it died on his lips before it could make it out, and he just felt stupid. “Gods, this is so sloppy. Ah, sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I uh … I hope you get to eat some cake today, at least. Have a slice for me, okay? Or … not, if you don’t want to. Fuck …”

The phone beeped again, signaling that he had used up his time, and he hissed out a couple more curses before calling again.

“Just ignore that last message. Gods, it was a train wreck. I’m sorry, I suck at this. I just …” He squeezed his eyes shut as a nasty tremble took him from head to foot and he thumped his head desperately against the wall. “Fuck, I miss you. I’m about to go out and swim, and I can’t believe you’re not here. I’m actually fucking nervous. Can you believe it?” He tried to chuckle, but it sounded more like a whimper.

“Kisumi, please come back. I know you don’t want to be away from your family right now, but don’t drop out of school. You can go back and visit them as much as you want. I’ll help you. We can work something out, but please don’t give up here. Everyone’s worried about you, and I don’t want you to fail, and maybe … maybe college is more than just classes.”

Beep.

“Fuck.” He ground his teeth and tried not to throw the phone down on the ground, though it didn’t stop him from pitching a mini fit and raking his hands through his hair. “Who has the fucking time,” he growled. “How is anyone supposed to say everything they want to,” he shouted at his phone, as though it was the culprit for all his bumbling ineloquence.

“Shiina.”

He looked over his shoulder. One of the new guys from his team, that he couldn’t remember the name of yet, gestured toward the door.

“We’re heading out.”

He nodded, trying not to make it obvious that he was seconds away from a meltdown. He couldn’t respond audibly, but his teammate got the gist and walked out behind some of the other swimmers. That was when he noticed the hovering presence to his left and his eyes swept over to Hiyori, who was openly staring him down with a gaze that was half thoughtful and half full of pity, except it looked like he was watching a kitten drown and was in no rush to save it. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had given Asahi the kind of pity that was soft and nurturing. Any way that Hiyori looked at him was irritating, so he turned away from him and threw his phone in the locker with the rest of his stuff before slamming the door shut.

Hiyori didn’t go anywhere until Asahi started to walk by, and then he fell in step beside him, and Ashai kept his comment to himself.

“Want me to give you a pass today? Heard it’s been a rough couple of weeks.”

“I don’t need any of that right now, Toono, thank you.”

“Ouch.” Hiyori dropped his shoulders and turned his head away calmly, though there was a quiet strain about him that Asahi couldn’t name. “Are we back to a last name basis already? I thought for sure we’d get into an epic battle of wit and grit before that happened. In my head, it was going to be a sign of respect or something, like ‘I commend you for a war well fought,’ that kind of thing.”

Asahi shifted a bitter glare to the side, away from Hiyori, and then regretted whatever life decisions were coming back to punish him with Hiyori’s presence. They could be cool sometimes, but when Asahi wasn’t in the mood, Hiyori was the fist person to get under his skin. It didn’t matter what came out of his mouth. And unfortunately for Asahi, they were fairly evenly matched when it came to swimming front crawl, so they were always in the same time bracket, which meant they were always in the same races and, nine times out of ten, always in lanes next to each other. Hiyori had made a habit of sticking close to Asahi’s shoulder on the long walks out through the tunnels and making teasing passes about “taking it easy” on Asahi. Asahi wasn’t without his countering jibes most of the time, but today was not the day. He just simply didn’t respond.

And he could feel when Hiyori’s hazel-eyed gaze analyzed him thoroughly. He wasn’t exactly discreet about it, as he practically leaned forward with his head fully turned to get a good look at Asahi’s face. And from his peripheral, Asahi noticed the other boy’s lips tightening into a line before he sighed and straightened his shoulders, turning his attention to the path ahead of them now.

“I know it’s a lot to ask, but try to get your head right,” Hiyori said, and Asahi couldn’t even begin to decipher his tone. “It’d be a boring race without you.”

They emerged from the tunnel at this point, so Asahi elected to dismiss the comment altogether. Toono Hiyori was a person he’d never be able to understand. And anyway, the unsettled pressure in his chest began spreading out to engulf the rest of his body, and his rival became unimportant anyway.

His legs were quivering so terribly, he had to walk on his toes as they followed the line of swimmers in their heat to stand alongside the pool and wait for their turn to swim. His calves flexed out of control as they hovered. Most everyone’s attention was on the current race, except for his own, and he realized the din of splashes and cheering was completely muffled in his ears. He didn’t recognize the tension in his shoulders, nor did he hear Hiyori attempting to talk to him twice. He kept his eyes on the pavement with his fists curled, forcing his gaze to stay down, because he knew the moment he looked up toward the stands, something in him would snap.

His first butterfly race in middle school, he had been nervous. At this point, he couldn’t remember why, because it took a lot to get him to that kind of place mentally. He had never been one to allow nerves to get the better of him. Anxiety knew not to mess with Shiina Asahi. He’d blow it out of the water in a snap. But in seventh grade, something had managed to latch onto him and rattle his spine. And maybe it didn’t actually have anything to do with the race itself. It was probably residual emotions left over from a fight his parents had gotten into. It didn’t matter, not in the long run, because it was short-lived.

The moment he’d stepped up on the starting block, he’d heard a bright, clear voice calling his name and had looked over to find Kisumi standing atop his seat, wildly waving his hands with a sunny, cheesing smile. The annoying pink-haired boy from his class had shouted his loudest good luck, and then blew him a kiss that had dropped Asahi’s stomach to his feet and burned his entire body with an embarrassed blush. He had gotten so flustered that the Starter had to blow his whistle multiple times, and then call Asahi out specifically for being the only one not set, and it was mortifying. Yet, strangely enough, the moment he’d crouched over at the ready, he realized his nervousness had been replaced with an intense fire in his gut, and everything else was washed away. His muscles stopped trembling, his heart stopped trying to strangle him, and he found himself oddly focused.

He had never figured out why that moment had happened the way that it did, why he’d been affected by it so specifically, but now it made some kind of sense. He’d won that race. And from that moment forward, whenever Kisumi was in the stands obnoxiously screaming good luck wishes and calling his name crystal clear above all the humming noise, he experienced that wash of calm and that odd focus and he swam well. He’d missed it a lot over the years, after moving, but the most exhilarating feeling of triumph had met him in the very moment he’d stepped up on the block for his first race as a university student and heard Kisumi calling his name. It was his fuel. And Kisumi hadn’t missed a tournament since then, so he’d never needed to be nervous.

“Asahi.”

Asahi blinked when Hiyori tapped his shoulder, and he realized the line was moving. He shed his jacket, trying not to scold himself for being the last one to do so and missing his opportunity to stretch. His body was no more settled, and it took all of his focus not to trip over his feet on his way to the block he’d been assigned. He stepped up onto it numbly, adjusting his goggles over his eyes, tucking that one tuft of hair on the nap of his neck into his swim cap.

He stared forward at the water, tried to truly see it, focus on it, acknowledge in real life, real time that he was seconds away from diving in for an official race, and races were important. But the edges of his vision were blurred and his gaze was not focused at all. In fact, it took all he had not to look up to his left. Third row up, typically somewhere around the fifth or sixth seat in, that’s where he usually sat. If Asahi didn’t look, there was the frail possibility that he could forget the emptiness and just pretend — just for a moment — less than sixty seconds.

“Take your marks.”

The dead echo of silence pressed hard on his Adam’s apple. He hadn’t known the absence of a specific voice could be so morbidly obvious. His body bent forward slowly, much slower than all the others, and the quiver in his limbs was very visible.

“Set.”

His grip tightened on the edge of the staring block. He pulled back, muscles coiling. He thought about teaching Kisumi how to dive and discovering only then that he was ticklish. He still didn’t know how that had escaped him for so long. Kisumi was very good at sharing only the things he wanted to share. And he thought of the pouting way Kisumi had dropped his chin in the water and complained that Asahi couldn’t just go tickling him any time he wanted. And he was suddenly mesmerized by the fact that he actually hadn’t taken advantage of that little weakness since that moment. Kisumi was truly quite adorable when he pouted.

The gun went off.

He breathed half a curse under his breath, and dove in late. His body was heavy. His arms felt like they were lined with iron, and an aching tingle sprung up in his lower back, trying to keep his hips up. He was moving, but he knew he was slow, and his ears automatically strained themselves for the cheering call of that bubbly voice, but it wasn’t there, and it hurt. It hurt more than most anything had ever hurt before, and it was shocking to him. So much so that his throat instinctually vibrated to voice his pain, and he was met with the alarming intrusion of water washing up through his nose.

He didn’t know what was keeping him swimming, why his body didn’t just stop. He nearly rammed his head into the wall at the turn and found himself all kinds of upside down before his feet found the lining to kick off of. It was twice as grueling on the way back. He’d taken in even more water turning around, and his stomach was automatically trying to get it out of his system before he drowned. His limbs floundered, and the panic rose, but he kept swimming. He had to. He had to. He had to. He had to — just a little bit more.

_Don’t you dare stop._

For whatever reason, he recalled the moment he’d popped his head out of the water to find Kisumi beaming over him with dripping hair after their makeshift relay. _Asahi!_ He had such a sweet voice. It always turned up with the most adorable lilt when he was excited, the perfect compliment to such a pretty smile.

The moment his palm slapped the wall, his chest seized and he choked with violent coughs that squeezed the water from his lungs, somehow also trying to inhale at the same time, and his body shook with exertion. Water gushed out of his nose and burned his face and all he could do was shake his head when one of the officials leaned over his lane and asked him questions he didn’t hear. He ripped his swim cap and goggles from his head, and splashed his face with water then aggressively raked his hands through the back of his hair, trying to cool himself down.

Somehow, through this moment of sputtering suffocation, he could feel Hiyori’s eyes heavy on the side of his face, and it just made the moment that much worse.

When he finally started to calm down, waving away any assistance that was offered him, he pulled himself shakily out of the pool and didn’t even bother to look up toward the board to check his time. There was no point. He just barely remembered to grab his jacket, and didn’t even accept the towel that was held out to him by a body-less hand.

He was halfway to the tunnel when his head lifted itself up and his eyes dragged their way to the stands against his grieving protests, despite knowing what he would find, which was an empty seat right next to Makoto, whose fretful expression Asahi didn’t even bother to notice. It was like getting stabbed in the stomach anyway. His abs contracted, forcing him to hunch over with an arm around his waist, and he walked away.

There was no thought process involved in getting him out from underneath so many sets of eyes. His legs took him to a secluded shower where he stayed for a long time, gasping for breath and whimpering the pain out of his stomach. His body was all ready to cry. But it didn’t. He didn’t know why that was so frustrating to him, but he found himself very angry very quickly. He’d never exactly been good at crying. It was an exhausting event that he supposed his body just simply rejected. He came from a tough family. Every single one of them was rough around the edges — brash, loud, passionate people that got their feelings out by shouting.

Once when he was five, his sister had abruptly stopped in his bedroom doorway to find him wiping his eyes as he sat cross-legged on the floor.

“What are you doing?” she’d asked, tone completely aghast, and not just that, but offended almost, as though tears were something that had no business existing, what was more, on his face.

“They don’t like each other,” he remembered responding, referring to their parents, who in that moment had been raging up a storm in the room directly under his.

“They’re never going to,” Akane had said, stalking in to grab his wrist and pull him up to his feet. She had marched him down the hallway to her room, roughly brushing the wet from his face along the way. “It’s not your problem. So don’t let it get to you.”

And he hadn’t after that, not in that way. He’d just allowed a callous shell to form around him about it, inadvertently allowing his tear ducts to dry up in the process. Maybe that was why he had such a hard time processing sadness, both in himself and in other people. He wasn’t used to tears. He didn’t like them on Kisumi, he didn’t like them on Makoto, and he couldn’t even get them out of himself anymore. So he simmered instead — or blew up, or threw punches, or hid his face.

This time, when he somehow managed to stalk back into the locker room — which was now long empty — he threw his goggles to the floor, then his jacket. He opened his locker roughly, then slammed it out against the locker next to it a couple of times, and by this time he was all kinds of riled up, so he gritted his teeth and started throwing his other shit at the floor and against the walls, and he slammed the locker back again, then threw his fists against it, paused with trembling elbows and breathless lungs, then turned and kicked the bench over. And the clatter it made was loud enough to reel him back. So for a good long while, he just stood there with a heaving chest, glaring at it.

He didn’t know how long it took him to notice, but he eventually swept his gaze to the left, and he and Hiyori just stood there staring at each other for a long and tense moment as Asahi caught his breath. He couldn’t read the other boy’s face.

Hiyori was so frustrating. Asahi had gotten used to assuming there was nothing sincere about him, so when Hiyori looked at him with even the smallest hint of genuine concern, he rejected it immediately. He convinced himself it wasn’t real, and he couldn’t understand why it would be anyway. Also, he hated that, of all people, Hiyori was the one there to watch him throw a fit, and the fact that he wasn’t saying anything right now just made Asahi’s veins bubble with heat. He turned away and picked his belongings up in silence. He stuffed everything back in the locker, because unfortunately he still had a 100 and 200m race in butterfly to do, and god fuck he was just exhausted.

He shrugged his jacket back on and started his way toward the doors. Hiyori’s eyes followed him. His chest swelled with a breath and he opened his mouth to speak, but Asahi immediately snapped a glare on him.

“Whatever it is you have to say, keep it to yourself.”

And he was already past him and stalking down the hallway before the other boy could respond anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so, for my fellow AsaKisu fans, if you have not read the High Speed 2 light novel that Starting Days is based on, I have to just share the little golden nugget with you about Asahi and Kisumi in middle school - because they are totally and completely a thing. 
> 
> During one of Asahi's freestyle races, when he is struggling to swim (practically drowning, really) "someone" starts screaming his name, and it is revealed that that someone is Kisumi, and once Kisumi starts cheering Asahi on, he's able to push through and finish the race. If that is not the most adorable canon of canon things you could ever come across ... I was squealing for like an hour.


	15. Chapter 15

“I’m not going to lecture you,” Seijuro said, two days later. “The results of how you swim are on your own head, and I imagine you know how to beat yourself up enough about it.”

Following the team meeting after practice, Seijuro had called for him to stay behind, and now Asahi was staring at the ground over the toes of his shoes, fist tight around the strap of his bag as his captain stood over him with a scrutinizing yellow gaze and his arms crossed over his chest.

“I want better for you; I hope you know that. But I also understand that this is about more than just swimming.”

Asahi glanced up without raising his head. Seijuro dropped his shoulders.

“Haru told me what’s going on.”

Asahi turned his head away.

“He didn’t want me to yell at you. I told him I wouldn’t, but I can’t just say nothing. I know you’re worried about your friend, but what’s happening with him is out of your control, and you can’t let it stop the things you have going on in your own life. You have a lot of passion, Asahi, a lot of drive. You’re not a person that ever gives up on anything, so please don’t.”

“No one said I was giving up,” Asahi said, looking back with a less than respectful gaze.

Seijuro’s lips tilted, biceps tight. “That’s not what I got from your races this weekend.”

“I thought you said you weren’t going to lecture me.”

Seijuro pulled in a tough breath and breathed it out in a sigh, finally looking in another direction. “You’re right. Sorry, it’s a habit.”

“Do you captain your siblings at home?”

“I live with my girlfriend.”

“Sucks to be her then.”

Seijuro puffed up as though very much tempted to be offended, but he clapped a rough hand on Asahi’s shoulder instead and patted it a few times. His touch was the very opposite of light.

“If you get overwhelmed, just let me know. We’ll work something out. I don’t want you pushing yourself so much that you almost drown, okay? I don’t play games like that. And if I sense that something’s not right about your head-game next time, I won’t hesitate to pull you out of events, got it?”

“Got it,” Asahi mumbled. He was in no mood to argue about something like that with someone like Mikoshiba. It would only yield exhausting results.

Seijuro patted his shoulder again, forcing his face to wince this time. Then he shooed him away. “Go home. Take care of yourself.”

Asahi didn’t hesitate to turn away.

It was becoming a drag, all of it. Classes had never been fun to him, but everything else around his actual reason for being at university was beginning to turn sour. And classes were that much more of a pain when he couldn’t concentrate anyway. Now he was walking away from the repercussions of his performance during the first competition of the season and he was so dissatisfied. He’d get to swim again, sure. Not in the intercollegiate finals, but there would be other competitions. However, the level of screw-uppery that had just taken place was going to set him back, and most assuredly his chances at an Olympic gold medal were fucked.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets, feet dragging, because a small part of him said he knew he wouldn’t have made it anyway. There were way better swimmers than him. He’d never necessarily been aiming for the world. He just wanted to swim and swim well, because it was fun when he won, and he liked to stuff his pockets with bragging rights. But it was crushing in a lot of ways. One bad competition was nothing to sniffle over, but he had a soul-sucking feeling that this season in its entirety was going to be like swimming through tar, and Seijuro had most assuredly picked up on that as well. Losing was frustrating. Surpassing his own lowest of low competition times was humiliatingly depressing. He wasn’t having fun.

And there it was again, those poorly timed flashbacks of coaching Kisumi in the pool. The ghostly echo of that laugh bouncing around the room, rippling his arms with chill bumps. Kisumi’s chlorine-soaked mop of pink hair was so attractive, and he hated that he’d never said anything about it.

He’d been quite the pupil, quietly surprising Asahi with how quickly he became _good_ at diving. And there had been a point in which Asahi found himself mesmerized by Kisumi’s breaststroke. It had been later, after several more coaching sessions, of course, but he had improved massively in a very short amount of time, and Asahi couldn’t deny his lacy daydreams of curiosity, wondering what it might have been like if Kisumi had started as a swimmer. He had a great body for it, and a natural athletic propensity relative to Haru’s almost. It was easy to humor hopeful visions of one day swimming a serious race against his best friend, and he imagined Kisumi had always been that way about his persistent desire to play basketball with everybody he knew.

It was unfair.

They hadn’t swum together in over a month. They hadn’t played any one-on-one games. They hadn’t lounged around Kisumi’s apartment, promising themselves that they would get their work done. They hadn’t gone out for donburi. They hadn’t fallen asleep with their heads together, watching a family-friendly movie with Tsukushi.

“Shiina-kun!”

By now, he would have liked to think, had Kisumi’s life stayed upright, there would have been several more than just one goodnight kiss to log away and replay in his mind while staring up at his ceiling in the middle of the night. Maybe instead of the dense ball of wadded up, raw, unchecked emotions rolling around like a paperweight in his gut, he’d be filled with something much lighter, much warmer, much friendlier. Maybe those heavy-set doors would not have abruptly snapped shut on him the moment he’d finally allowed them to open.

“Shiina Asahi!”

It wasn’t fair. And it was the kind of not fair that he had no one to blame for. He couldn’t go around pointing fingers and blowing his rage and frustration on the culprit, because there wasn’t one. That ominous shadow of mortality had gotten on the train with Kisumi. And even though he saw the whispers of it lurking in random corners behind his shoulders, it wasn’t something he could touch. It wasn’t something he could threaten. He couldn’t demand that it leave Kisumi and his family alone right now. There was no way to banish it. So it just sat there staring at the back of his head, just to remind him that it was there, that he couldn’t catch it, and that it was going to swallow the world one day.

“Asahiiii!”

He blinked his way to a stop and turned his eyes around the quad he’d been absently strolling through. He saw no one of interest until he looked back over his shoulder to find Yua from kendo club running breathlessly toward him with her arm in the air, her fingers curled around a thick envelope. He turned, waiting for her to catch up, watching the light from the sunset shimmer through her gold-blonde ponytail. She stopped in front of him with a gasp and crouched over with her hands on her knees for a moment, trying to catch her breath.

“I’m … sorry …” she breathed, squinting up at him. “I tried to catch you at swim practice, but I got held up on my way. Here.”

She thrust the envelope into his hands, and he blinked down at it, turning it over in his palms. It wasn’t sealed, and when he peeked inside, his heart shot up to his throat. He slapped the envelope to his chest, face immediately turning hot.

“What is this?” he asked shakily, staring down at her with wide eyes.

She was rather short. He’d known that, but the last time they had talked in person, he’d been sitting next to her on the floor of the dojo, watching her cry. Now that she was standing directly in front of him, he found himself a bit thrown off. He was used to looking at people in the eye, not staring down at the tops of their heads.

“It’s a donation,” she said, finally straightening her back. She brushed her bangs out of her face. “We all felt so bad for Kisumi-kun. We wanted to do something for him. Money was a huge issue when my sister was sick, and I know it’s insanely hard for Kisumi to think about being at school when his family lives so far away. So we thought we’d get some money together to help out with travel expenses.”

Something shuddered up the back of Asahi’s spine, and he couldn’t name it, but it closed his throat entirely. His fingers tightened around the envelope, pressing it closer to his chest where his heart started beating an aching rhythm. He opened his mouth, but nothing came out, so he closed it and tried again, but after several false starts, all he could do was breathe out and yank her into a one-armed hug.

It was kind of awkward, because her face ended up squished against his sternum and he was practically squeezing her by the head, but she didn’t seem phased by it. Instead, she raised her arms to close around his waist and patted his back.

“Thank you,” he said into the top of her hair.

She shook her head. “It’s nothing at all. Kisumi-kun is a friend. I never wanted anyone to go through what I had to go through with my sister, but life is unfair sometimes. We can’t change that, but we can make sure he feels loved. It’s the very least any of us could do.”

His body trembled, and he was embarrassed because he knew she could feel it, but those words clenched around his heart so desperately, he found himself flooded with hope for the first time in weeks. He finally let her go, and she smiled up at him with rosy cheeks.

“He’s got a great friend in you, you know? I can see why he likes you so much, Shiina-kun.”

Asahi stiffened. He could feel the blush ripening across the bridge of his nose. He couldn’t respond.

Yua breathed out a refreshing giggle at the look, and nodded to the envelope. “Pass that along to him for us, okay? And tell him we miss him.”

“Y-yeah,” he stammered.

She turned with a friendly wave and walked back the way she had come.

He stood there, watching her ponytail swish in the late spring glow of the evening — a single ray of light breaking through the oppressive shadows — and he was convinced she was an angel. _Mesmerizing_ would have downplayed that moment, but it all lifted with an abrupt snatch when a shock of realization pulled up his spine and he immediately turned and ran.

It had started to grow rather warm as the seasons slowly shifted. Summer was very nearly at the door and the density of the evening broke a sweat over his brow as he sprinted through the city, pardoning himself at every turn. His birthday jacket was officially out of season, and it had been for about two weeks now, but he threw it over his shoulders every morning, and refused to remove it for most of the day, if he didn’t have to. The nylon lining was sticking to his arms now, but he just pushed the sleeves up to his elbows and clumsily stuffed the envelope in his bag as he ran.

He burst through the café doors of Marron in record-breaking time.

“Nee-chan!”

Akane yelped and nearly dropped the drink she was in the process of setting in front of a middle-aged, business man, who shot his head up in alarm. A splash of liquid jumped out of the glass and over her knuckles as she just barely saved it from soaking the guy’s slice of cake. Though, she had to jump back to avoid getting her feet wet.

“Asahi!” she breathed, turning to set the glass on an empty table and wipe her hands on her apron. “I’m so sorry, sir. I’ll get a new drink for you.”

“It’s no problem,” the man said, waving a hand.

Akane wiped the table under the glass once she picked it back up and shot a glare at her brother on her way back to the counter. “I know you’re my little brother, but this is a working establishment, Asahi. You can’t just bust in like that.”

He completely ignored her lecturing pout and rushed up to the counter, pressing his palms together over his head as he bowed forward with his eyes squeezed shut. “Please give me a job!”

By the sound of her stuttering cough, he could tell she’d just flinched back with surprise. “A _job_?” she repeated. “Here?”

“Yes, please,” he begged, popping his eyes up at her, hands still raised. “I need one right away. I’ll work really really hard, I promise.”

She blinked at him several times. “What about school? And practice?”

“I’ll work on the weekends, and any other time I’m free. Please, Nee-chan.”

“What do you so immediately need a job for, Asahi?”

“I want to help Kisumi,” he said, pulling the envelope out of his bag and pushing it across the counter to show his sister. “An angel gave me a donation for him, and I want to give him more. I want him to stay in school and still be able to go back to see his family whenever he needs to. Please, Nee-chan, give me a job.” He pressed his hands together again. “I have to do something. I’m in love with him, and I never got him a birthday present.”

The guy in the background choked on his cake. Akane’s cheeks flushed pink, eyes going wide. A glossy sheen overtook her gaze and she blinked rapidly, turning her face away. She breathed out a curse under her breath and dipped her head, wiping quickly at the tops of her cheeks. He watched with baited breath, his fingers lacing together with a tight grip, shivering with anticipation. A drop of sweat just barely missed the corner of his eye.

Akane pulled in a heavy breath and wrinkled her nose when she looked back at him. “I start prepping the café at five o’clock. You can help me open the shop in the mornings and clean up at night. And I’ll expect you here from noon to closing on weekends. Now, go get the mop from the supply closet and clean up your mess.”

She tossed out a finger to shoo him away and he bowed deeply and enthusiastically, then leapt halfway over the counter to grab her face and kiss her cheek.

“Thank you, Nee-chan!”

“Yes, okay, go! You’re on the clock,” she said, snapping his shoulder with the back of her hand. “Geez, I can’t believe you got me all emotional,” she hissed, mostly to herself.

He hurried his way into the kitchen, where he ditched his bag, hung up his jacket and yanked the mop out of the closet. He hurried back into the dining area with it, heart lifted and pumping at a mile a minute. He gave the middle-aged, business man his biggest cheesing smile as he scrubbed the floor clean at the foot of his table.

“Sorry to startle you, sir. If there’s anything I can get you, please let me know.”

The man gave him an odd look, then let out a large sigh and pulled his wallet out of his pocket. He dug out ¥10,000 and stuck it out for Asahi to take. His frantic mopping jerked to a halt, smile vanishing to be replaced by shock.

“Go on,” the man said, waving the money when Asahi initially did nothing. “For your friend. You can tell me the story later.”

Asahi reached out slowly, bowing his head as he accepted the money. “Thank you very much.”

“Asahi.”

He looked over his shoulder just as Akane came up from under the counter and set down a glass jar previously used for coffee beans. She patted the side and gave him a smile.

“Let’s make a sign.”

He tightened his trembling fingers around the mop handle, chest expanding with so much emotion that it hurt. He nodded. “Okay.”

* * *

He called up every single one of their friends that night, even Yamazaki and Matsuoka, and Haru and Makoto’s old teammates, who all then turned around and recruited assistance from several others that they knew. He didn’t mention anything to Kisumi yet, but he did send him a midnight text that read: _im going to give Yua ur number i really think u should talk to her_

He spent the remainder of the week running around campus back to Kisumi’s clubs and classes, this time with a lifted spirit and a new script. Everyone was thoroughly elated to pitch in. The basketball team assured him that there were plenty of other people from rivaling teams around the area who had befriended Kisumi through the sport, and they would contact them for donations as well. The video production club didn’t hesitate to switch gears for their up-coming film festival. They all agreed to screen the film they’d already been working on for Kisumi, and turn it into a fundraiser for the whole Shigino family. And then they _absolutely_ insisted that Asahi keep coming back to help them make it extra special.

Haru half-jokingly commented that Makoto should schmooze the cougars at the community pool into giving donations, but then it actually worked. Instead of chocolates and cookies, the young coach started receiving “anonymous” envelopes full of perfume-scented cash. And once the business community club got their teeth into it, Asahi started getting stopped by random strangers on campus, asking for his information, and/or shoving loose change into his hands.

It took him less than two days to open up an account for all the virtual money that started flooding in, and he spent an hour and a half huddled next to Ikuya in front of his laptop, creating a webpage for everyone to funnel their donations through.

It was overwhelming. And he could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins every time he walked into Marron and saw the coffee bean jar full of yen. It gave him all the fuel he needed to wake up at four o’clock in the morning, help his sister open the shop, run to the pool on morning practice days, sit through his classes, help the video production club with creating fliers and filming their movie, run to the pool on evening practice days, close up Marron at night, and squeeze in as much homework that he could before falling asleep on top of his textbooks at god only knew what hour.

On the weekends, he burned his hands steaming up froth for lattes and cappuccinos, apologized _a lot_ for mixing up orders and dropping plates, and took way too long learning how to prepare all the different drinks from the menu and not mistake the melon cake for the lemon cake. But, he was good at washing the dishes, everyone he talked to thought he was charming, and at least Akane had regular cooks for the actual food.

Even though he couldn’t participate, Seijuro made him sit through the finals for the intercollegiate competitions to cheer on his teammates. He had to miss a weekend of work, but seeing as the insistent demand was preceded by his bright-eyed captain slipping a ¥100,000 envelope into his bag, he couldn’t really complain. 

For an entire month, he felt like he was non-stop sprinting, but he was grateful to have a mission, to know he would have something meaningful to present to Kisumi by the time the film festival was over, and then maybe he’d be convinced to come back to school.

Makoto and Sousuke double-teamed to try and convince Kisumi to at least drop into Tokyo just for the film festival itself, but he apparently wasn’t budging, and Asahi tried not to be discouraged by that. But he didn’t want to say anything to him about the money yet. He wanted it to be as much of a surprise as they could make it, to really gut-punch him with all the support that everyone was so willing to give. He wanted him to be convinced, truly and thoroughly, that he could stay in Tokyo _and_ be with his family. And the little flame of hope just kept burning brighter with all the results everyone’s compassion was producing by the day. It could be done.


	16. Chapter 16

On the last day of June, he used his lunch break to put up the last of the fliers around the block for the film festival. Then Yua and a couple other kendo club members visited the café for dinner, and Akane let him take a break to sit with them for a while. They fell in love with Tsukushi — who insisted on staying awake past his bedtime — and promised that they’d make an appearance for Kisumi’s film screening next week.

“This makes me so happy, Asahi-kun,” Yua said, wrinkling her nose with a smile as she let Tsukushi inspect the necklace around her neck while he sat on the edge of the table in front of her. “I never imagined our little donation would snowball into an entire fundraiser and then some. You’ve really outdone yourself.”

Asahi granted her a gentle smile, pinching stray crumbs from the back of Tsukushi’s shirt. “Not really,” he mumbled. “I just didn’t want him to have to worry. And it was pretty much your idea anyway.”

She chuckled. “Not a single bit, but I’ll accept that. I’m glad I got to do something.” She gave him a side glance, and her smile turned into a knowing grin. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to have him around again.”

Yua’s friends giggled, and he did his best not to blush. He stuffed his hands between his knees. “Yeah,” he admitted over a sigh. It came with a bitter-sweet flip flop of his stomach though. “That’s of course assuming that any of this will bring him back at all.”

“It will,” Yua said confidently. “If your friendship has anything to do with it, it will.” She paused, and her voice was tender when she spoke again. “He talked about you all the time, you know.”

A shiver ran down his back. “Did he?”

Yua’s friend Ichika chuckled. She was a little bit older than the rest of them, with cropped, electric purple hair and one dangling earring. “Non-stop,” she said, propping her chin on the heel of her palm. “‘Asahi is so inspiring,’ ‘Asahi is really funny,’ ‘Asahi is a fantastic swimmer.’ Sensei got so tired of it, he said Kisumi would have to bring you to training just to prove that you were real.”

“Mimi!” Tsukushi screamed, throwing up an excited fist and looking directly at Asahi with expectant, happy eyes.

It turned Asahi’s stomach a bit with more of that bitter-sweet tumbling. He gave his nephew a patient smile and ruffled his hair. “Mimi’s not back yet, booger.”

The girls cooed and awed, and Yua plopped a kiss on Tsukushi’s cheek. “So sweet.”

The third girl that had come with Yua and Ichika, Asahi had never met before that moment, so he couldn’t remember her name. She looked up from glancing at her phone and softly called Yua’s name, gesturing toward the time.

“Ah,” Yua said. “Guess it’s time to get going.” She pulled Tsukushi to her chest and cradled him tightly with a loving hug. “It was so nice to meet you, Tsuku-chan,” she cooed.

She stood and passed him over the table for Ichika and the other girl to say goodbye, and while her arms were free, she pulled Asahi into a hug that was just as tender. She pressed her ear to his chest this time, but still consolingly patted his back.

“Everything’s going to be alright, Asahi-kun,” she said. Her smile was bright and confident when they broke apart. “Whatever the ending circumstances may be, I am a living testament to that.” She squeezed his palms. “Kisumi’s going to be okay.”

“Mimi!”

The girls giggled at Tsukushi’s repetitious exclamation, and Asahi took him back to hold him against his chest, when Ichika offered him over. He looked back to Yua, truly unable to communicate the overwhelming tenderness he’d grown for her in such a short amount of time.

“Thank you, Tenshi - for everything.”

A rosy blush washed over the tops of her cheeks and she looked away with a bashful smile. “You really shouldn’t call me that.”

“I think it suits you.”

She laughed a breathless chuckle, rubbing at the back of her head, then rolled her eyes and lifted him one last smile. “We’ll see you later.”

“See you, Asahi-kun,” Ichika said with a wave over her shoulder as they walked away. “Bye bye, Tsukushi!”

“Bee bee!” Tsukushi said, waving his fingers after them.

The girls followed each other out of the café and linked arms as they crossed the street into the night. Asahi lingered with a watchful gaze, absently bouncing Tsukushi in his arms until his nephew grabbed his chin and looked up at him with a questioning gaze.

“Mimi?” he said, poking his finger into his mouth and then looking back toward the door as though he expected Kisumi to walk through it.

Asahi pinched his lips and turned. “Not yet, booger,” he said quietly. He kissed his nephew on the forehead. “No more playing around now. It’s time for bed. Stop being stubborn.”

He gave his nephew back to his sister and manned the dining area while she went to put him down. The rest of the evening was quiet. He made nearly no mistakes tending to the last few customers of the day. Clean-up was quick and easy this go around, and everything was wiped down and ready for the next day a whole ten minutes shy of the usual time it took to officially close up on a Saturday night.

He bid his sister a goodnight and, despite it being 73 degrees and oppressively humid, he shrugged on his bomber jacket and decided to walk his way back to his dorm. It was a slow weekend night, it seemed, and he wondered if that was just because everyone was trying to stay inside as much as possible to escape the humidity. It wasn’t dead by any means. It was still Tokyo. The city was alive and moving, and he could feel the forgiving breeze of comfortably flowing traffic passing by. But it was quieter than usual … Or maybe he was just feeling docile.

He thought about maybe calling up Ikuya or peeking in on Haru and Makoto. The night was technically young. But he had a term paper to write, and probably wouldn’t be able to find the time to do so if he didn’t get it done before work tomorrow. And it had been far too long since he’d last tended to his laundry. It would be smart of him to take his homework down to the laundry room, but in all honesty, just thinking about it made him tired. He didn’t have the mental energy to write a paper right now, or to do his laundry. And if he was going to be really honest, there was some odd part of him that just wanted to be alone.

That was a new thing he had picked up within the past couple of months. He didn’t necessarily like it. He was a people-person by nature. He liked company. But it had become somewhat of a chore to be around people lately, because everything piled up in his mountain of emotions just kind of had to have a sheet thrown over it so that he could act like a normal human being. Granted, even when he was by himself, he still didn’t do much with that mountain, but it was easier just to let it be what it was when he was alone, and occasionally throw a fit with his face in his pillow, than it was to strain himself not to scream on the subway.

So he went straight home. He kicked his shoes off, dropped his bag in the middle of the floor, and flopped onto his bed with a giant exhale, nose pressed into his sheets. He needed to wash those too. He thought about changing his clothes, but that was a hassle. So he just listened to the ever-present hum of Tokyo traffic outside his window, and the muffled drone of the audio book his neighbor was listening to. He couldn’t really pick out full sentences, but based on a few words given out of context, it sounded like something smutty. He had a passing thought of watching porn, but decided against it. Even that was too exhausting right now, and he wasn’t a fan of exaggerated acting and unrealistic scenarios anyway. So he just continued to lay there, going down a list of things that he ultimately decided not to do.

It wasn’t until he had the bright idea to just turn over and go to sleep that his phone buzzed in his pocket with a new text. The only thing he moved was his arm, until the phone was already unlocked and close enough to his face that all he had to do was turn his head and squint through the glow.

_Can you pick me up from the shinkansen station around midnight?_

His brow furrowed as he read the message several times and lay in a daze of thorough confusion, before he actually bothered to look at who the message was from. Then his heart dropped and he popped up immediately. He nearly fell flat on his face scrambling to get off the bed. He swiped up his shoes and ran out the door within all of five seconds, then immediately turned back around and fumbled around his room for Kisumi’s car keys and his wallet before flying out the door again, slamming it shut, and hitting his fist against his neighbor’s door on his way down the hall.

He never put his shoes on his actual feet. He just tossed them into the passenger’s seat and drove in his socks. He glanced at the time on the dashboard. It wasn’t quite eleven yet, but that didn’t slow a single thing down. He was suddenly so awake, he felt like he was going to fly out of the seat and ascend through the roof of the car. He yelled at the traffic in front of him while his thumbs drummed an antsy rhythm on the steering wheel, and it took much too long to get less than ten minutes around the corner and break in front of Haru’s place. He ran up the steps to the third floor two at a time — he’d left his shoes in the car — and nearly fell over, jerkily halting his momentum in front of Haru’s (and, oh yeah, Makoto’s) door. He pounded his fist against it, rising higher and higher on his toes with every second that it didn’t open.

He only just heard the scuffle of movement and muffled conversation.

“Coming! Haru, let me …”

“… in the kitchen. Do you …”

“No. Mochi, stop …”

“… that you do now, because I’m opening it.”

“No, I don’t. Hold on, wait!”

The door opened, and a streak of grey bolted out into the night, scampering across Asahi’s toes.

“No, no, Mochi! _Haru_ ,” Makoto whined from the background. “She’s going to get down the stairs again.”

“I got her,” Haru was already saying, stepping out past Asahi with a bag of treats in his hand. “Sabachi!” he barked.

The Russian blue cat stopped running, but it was only to trot in a tranquil circle and then sit down at the very top of the staircase. Her turquoise eyes flashed against the shadows as she stared down the walkway at her owner, tail flicking lazily behind her. Haru shook the bag and crouched down.

“Treat.”

She cocked her head and mewled, flashing her sharp teeth.

“Come, Sabachi. Inside, or no treat.” He tossed a finger behind him toward the door.

The cat took her time saying her peace, then licked the back of her paw and stood. She strolled her way back toward them at her own leisurely pace, and then slipped back into the apartment.

“Sabachi?” Asahi said, eyes on Haru as he straightened back up to his full height. He followed him through the door and closed it behind him. “I thought her name was Mochi.”

“Yeah, well …” Makoto started with a sigh, gazing down in exasperation at their cat as she ambled over to where he was standing and weaved through his legs with an innocent purr, rubbing her face against his shins. He propped his hands on his hips. “Haru was really adamant about naming her Saba, but I said, if we were going to name her after a food, then it should at least be something cute. Technically, her name is Saba-Mochi. I just call her Mochi, though, and Haru thinks he’s being smart by calling her Sabachi.”

Makoto turned teasing green eyes over at his partner, who turned his nose away stubbornly.

“She knows what her real name is,” he said. He dug a treat out of the bag in his hand and Saba-Mochi was already scampering over to accept it. “That’s why she only comes when I call her.”

Makoto scoffed and turned away to wander into the living room. Saba-Mochi ate the treat out of Haru’s palm, and, after convincing him to give her another, she ran off to catch up with Makoto’s footsteps, circling his feet again with more chirping mewls until he picked her up.

“Stubborn little troublemaker,” he sighed, scratching the top of her head with a finger. “Hi, Asahi,” he said, finally lifting a smile to their guest. “Is everything okay? You sounded urgent at the door.”

“Oh!” Asahi popped up as everything rushed back in one swoop. “Kisumi texted me. He’s on his way back!”

Both Haru and Makoto snapped wide eyes at him.

“What? Ouch!” Makoto yanked his finger out of Saba-Mochi’s mouth and tossed her on the couch with a grimace. “Haru, I swear she’s bipolar.”

“No. She’s just a cat.”

“Oh my god!” Makoto exclaimed, eyes shining when he looked back at Asahi as though he’d just been struck by lightning. “Asahi, you said Kisumi’s on his way back?”

Asahi nodded, really doing his best to bite down a smile, even though it was hard, because Makoto was smiling too.

“Now?”

“Yeah. He asked me to pick him up at midnight.”

Makoto brightened all the more, stepping forward to shake Asahi excitedly by the shoulders. “He texted _you_?”

Asahi was full out beaming now. “Yeah. Did he say anything to you about coming back?”

Makoto shook his head. “No. I talked to him yesterday, but he didn’t mention a thing. I wonder what changed his mind. Did you talk to him?”

“No. This is the first time he’s sent me anything.”

Makoto’s cheesing smile was glittering, his grip still tight on Asahi’s shoulders as they leaned their heads together and shared relieved giggles of elation. Haru got tired of it quickly and tugged Makoto back by his shirt. Makoto hardly noticed.

“Can we come with you?” he pleaded. “We can bring Mochi!” He turned and picked the cat off the top of the couch where she was gnawing at the corner of one of the pillows. “Kisumi will love her.”

He nuzzled his cheek into the fur of Saba-Mochi’s neck and she swished her tail, patting his nose with her paw.

“You’re going to lose her again,” Haru dead-panned.

Makoto pinched his lips and shot him a look. “No I won’t. We’ll bring the —”

“She doesn’t like the carrier. She should be free.”

“Then I’ll carry her, Haruka.”

“Do they allow cats on the platforms?” Asahi said.

Makoto tilted his head with a guilty smile. “I’ll put her in my shirt.” He demonstrated by sliding the cat through the collar of his t-shirt until only her head was poking out underneath his chin. She meowed.

“I never took you for one to break the rules.”

Makoto shrugged, bouncing Saba-Mochi like a baby as he cradled her against his chest. “Rules start to blur just a little bit when you’ve been with Haru long enough. Then you start attracting friends like Nagisa, and find yourself breaking into other people’s pools.”

“I should get to swim in the fountain.”

“I said a _little bit_ , Haru.”

Haru huffed and turned his nose away.

Asahi chuckled, glancing between his friends and filling up with warmth inside. He couldn’t find the source. He just suddenly realized that Haru and Makoto made him really happy, and that was probably just a side thought as a result of the rising excitement misting up in his chest from knowing that Kisumi was currently on the bullet train back to Tokyo right at this very second. He didn’t know why. He didn’t know what had changed his mind. Maybe someone had told him something about the donations. Maybe his parents had gotten through to him. Maybe he was just agreeing to come by for a little bit to catch the festival. He didn’t know. It could be a combination of all of those, or it could be none of them, he didn’t care. Kisumi was coming back, and that was the only thought that held any precedence right now.

So, well before they actually needed to, he, Haru, Makoto, and Saba-Mochi all piled into Kisumi’s car and headed for the Shinkansen station. They bought entrance passes and smiled innocently at the security guard while Makoto side-shuffled through the gate with his back turned, smuggling his and Haru’s ball of fur through to the other side. Asahi figured that it was simply too late in the evening for the security guard to be bothered when Saba-Mochi meowed at exactly the wrong moment, because he pretended like he didn’t hear it, just like he pretended as though he didn’t notice them being so obviously suspicious. They didn’t linger around.

There were very few people walking about at this hour, but they did get stared at by a sleepy child, who was being held by his father as they lingered next to them on the platform and Saba-Mochi poked her nose out of Makoto’s shirt. Makoto shushed her occasionally, smiled affectionately whenever she licked at his chin, and discreetly transferred her over to Haru when she got suddenly restless and tried to squirm out of her nest. But Haru only ended up holding her for about ten minutes before he gave her right back, after she started biting at his collarbone.

Asahi was grateful they’d brought her. She was entertaining, and he needed something distracting to help him keep the anticipation tempered to a bearable level. He was extremely fidgety, maybe even more so than the cat. He did a lot of rocking on his toes and scratching at the back of his head with his elbows out, a lot of sighing, and swaying, and locking and unlocking his knees. Makoto offered to let him hold Saba-Mochi, but he still insisted he was a dog person. Also, he didn’t very much fancy the idea of her teeth burrowing into his collarbone. So Makoto did his best to keep Asahi talking, asking about the progress on Kisumi’s short film, his new unforeseen friendship with Yua, what Akane was planning for Tsukushi’s second ever birthday, and so on and so forth, and Asahi did his best to remain present and respond and not get annoyed by how slow the time was moving.

Makoto chuckled. “Asahi, you’re a very energetic person, but I’ve never seen you fidget this much.”

“Gods,” Asahi breathed out, bending over at the waist. “I feel like I’m going to throw up.”

“Not on my shoes,” Haru mumbled, taking a step to the right.

“Do you need a ginger ale?” Makoto asked, eyes already glancing around for a vending machine.

“No.” Asahi shook his head, letting the blood rush to the crown of his skull before he released a growling sigh and crouched down. “I just want the train to get here.”

“It should be pulling in any second,” Makoto stated, glancing at his watch. He turned a tender smile down at him. “You look a little nervous.”

“I’m hella nervous,” Asahi admitted, staring out across the train tracks.

“It’s just Kisumi,” Haru mumbled, gaze impassive.

“Well,” Makoto said, adjusting Saba-Mochi under his shirt. “Yes and no. It’s Kisumi, but he’s also been through a lot over the past couple of months.”

“What if he doesn’t come back the same?” Asahi said, voice muffled by his jeans, because he had just stuffed his face into his knees, being reminded of the sickening thought.

Makoto took a breath that sounded suspiciously like he’d had the same thought once or twice before this moment. “However he comes back, he’s still our friend, and we’re here to support him. He needs that more than anything right now. We have to do our best to stay positive, okay?”

With this he looked over at both Haru and Asahi, and Asahi knew, because he turned his head to the side to peek up at him. Makoto was smiling, but there was a severity in his eyes that didn’t allow for the normal sheen of gentleness to make its way through. It was faint, but Asahi had seen that look in his eyes once before, and it was when Makoto had bulked up and stepped between Haru and Hiyori when they had been in the midst of challenging each other to a race for Ikuya’s friendship.

That was in one of the Asahi's top spots for the most bullshit he’d ever had to put up with, which was why he was still struggling to see Hiyori as a friend, but that aside, that moment had been the first time that Asahi had ever seen such a fierce protectiveness come about Makoto. It had been chillingly frightening. He never would have guessed Makoto capable of such ferocity. This was the guy that cried during _The Giant Spider Invasion_ , and who was now currently cuddling a cat underneath his shirt. But it was there, the burning fire and determination to protect the integrity of Kisumi’s chances at hope - to protect _Kisumi_.

It made Asahi feel slightly better, a little more encouraged, knowing that no matter what, they were all going to make themselves available, to stand by and behind Kisumi and keep him afloat while he needed it. But also, he found himself thinking that Kisumi would have gotten chills, seeing Makoto look like that about him, and he wasn’t sure that part made him feel very great. Though, he forgot about it when Saba-Mochi poked her head out again with twitching ears. Asahi heard it a few seconds later and straightened his knees to stand, heart beating like mad at the Shinkansen lights approaching through the distant darkness.

He reminded himself to breathe and tried to swallow multiple times, keeping his hands in his pockets now, because he needed something to hold onto and the lining of his pockets was all that he had. The train pulled in, tracks squealing, bringing with it a rush of lukewarm wind that blew his bangs to the side. His eyes were already darting through every window he could catch, but of course there was nothing to make out until the train slowed itself to a stop. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and then back again, willing himself not to throw up.

There was a pause of a moment before the doors opened, and then another beat before the passengers started to file onto the platform. There were quite a few of them, most of them yawing and stretching and checking the time. A lot of them walked straight off and out toward the exit without stopping, but there were also the several few who met up with the family or friends that had been waiting to greet them.

The little boy falling asleep in his father’s arms perked up when a skirt-suited woman came down from the train, and their waiting buddies crossed over to meet her halfway, all three of them full of smiles and hugs as they were reunited, and the father passed the son over, and the mom kissed his cheek, and he clung to her with his arms locked around her neck. He said something about a cat and pointed in their direction, and Makoto fished Saba-Mochi’s paw out of his shirt to wave goodbye. The family smiled with a giggling twinkle in their eyes and waved back as they turned to leave. And Asahi’s throat thickened when they moved away and a messy mop of pink hair came into view.

He looked like Kisumi. He was wearing the same mint blue hoodie he’d left in. His jeans had been switched out for sweat pants, and instead of a small suitcase, there was a book bag strapped to his back. He was the same height, same build, and his eyes were still purple, but there was a definite absence of something … alive. It could have been mistaken for the same exhaustion that most of the other weary late-night travelers were carrying, but that was only if you weren’t used to the shining glitter of laughing lavender. His eyes were not smiling. He was not smiling. He wasn’t frowning either, but again, an argument of perspective could be made.

He lifted his gaze when Makoto said his name, and Asahi was hoping that something would spark at the sight of them waiting for him, but no such thing happened. He simply changed his course of direction and walked toward them, looking particularly more exhausted the closer he got.

He wasn’t just tired though. Tired was for people who stayed up a little too late scrolling through Instagram when they knew they needed to get up for school in the morning. Tired was for that moment after a tournament when the adrenaline wore off, and making it to the bed before crashing was a miracle. Tired was for moms with toddlers. Kisumi wasn’t tired. Kisumi hadn’t slept the entire two months he’d been gone. Kisumi hadn’t once found an ounce of peace. Kisumi hadn’t stopped worrying for a single second, and that shadow had become a part of him.

Kisumi wasn’t tired. Kisumi was empty.

And they all saw it. They all knew it. And even though Makoto had so passionately stated that they would be positive support pillars hardly five minutes ago, the weight, the strain, the raging discomfort that Kisumi brought over, just by walking up to them, settled on all three of them like a storm cloud hovering threateningly above their heads. Asahi didn’t know how Makoto did it, but he knew it was a hell of a fight to push past that and offer Kisumi a careful smile anyway.

“Welcome home, Kisumi,” he said, his tone light and tender. “How was your trip?”

Kisumi hooked his thumbs under the straps of his bag and shrugged. “It was long.”

Asahi’s stomach rolled. His voice was so quiet, so flat. There was no bubbly charm, no tinkling chimes, no high, clear obnoxious confidence.

“Did you get any sleep on the train?” Makoto asked.

Kisumi shook his head. His eyes slid to Asahi for the first time, and before Ashai could even pull in a breath, he looked away again, gaze falling to Makoto’s lumpy shirt and the whiskers poking out of it. Asahi’s fingers turned cold.

“What’s in your shirt?” Kisumi asked, though there was not a drop of curiosity in his tone.

Makoto offered another smile and pulled Saba-Mochi out into the open. “We brought Mochi. She wanted to meet you.”

It wasn’t brightness, but something about Kisumi’s expression shifted, and he accepted the cat as she was passed over to him. She started purring immediately and nuzzled her face against his jaw when he held her to his chest. His cheeks lifted, but it wasn’t a smile. It almost looked like a grimace, except that it was very faint, and his shoulders dropped. He ran his fingers through her fur and gave her all of his attention.

“She’s beautiful,” he said quietly.

Makoto nodded, still smiling, but his eyes watched Kisumi very carefully, as did Haru’s, as did Asahi’s. But Asahi wasn’t sure how much the other two’s stomachs were turning right now, or if they were having to keep themselves from trembling.

“Did you get to eat on the train? Are you hungry?”

Kisumi shook his head. “I’m just ready to go home.”

Makoto nodded again. “You must be tired.” He reached out and took the initiative of pulling Kisumi’s bag off of his back. Kisumi allowed this, still paying very close attention to the cat, and giving them no acknowledgement when Asahi held out his hand to Makoto, who consented to hand over Kisumi’s bag. He had to do something … He had no idea what to say right now.

He shrugged Kisumi’s bag onto his back and followed behind as Makoto and Kisumi led the way off the platform, walking side by side only because Makoto was electing to hang back and keep in step with their friend, who was now holding the cat close to his face.

Asahi felt heavy walking out of the station behind his friends, but it had nothing to do with the new weight on his back. It was the kind of heavy that made him oblivious to the security guard’s reaction to them walking away with a cat out in the open. It was the kind of heavy that kept him from noticing how very intentionally Haru was walking next to him. It was the kind of heavy that kept his eyes on the back of Kisumi’s pink hair and magnified the pulse of his heartbeat by settling it in his ears.

He wasn’t … upset that Kisumi had given him nothing but the one glance thus far. He really couldn’t be. He himself hadn’t even said anything to him when he’d walked up. Granted, he was still caught up in the mesmerizing feat of attempting to absorb these new details about Kisumi, trying to find something, anything, that resembled his usual perky spirit, but there was nothing yet.

Yet.

Yet was important. Yet had to be a relevant term. He thought of Yua and her golden hair and her encouraging smile. A living testament, she had said, that everything was going to be okay, that Kisumi was going to be okay. Yet was important.

“How’s Hayato?” Makoto asked. And Asahi was both impressed by and slightly envious of his tone. He was so very good at being gentle, at asking difficult questions in exactly the right way.

Kisumi hung his head a bit, but that might have just been to allow Saba-Mochi to reach the bridge of his nose with her rubbing face. “He’s stable,” he mumbled.

Makoto nodded. “He sounded much better the other day. It seems like spending some time with his friends helped.”

“He was happy. They didn’t get to go to the beach like they wanted to, but we tried to make it fun for them anyway.”

“I’m sure they had a great time. Is your mom still working from home?”

Kisumi nodded. “They’re going to let her stay remote as long as she needs to.”

“That’s good … Are you and your parents okay?”

Kisumi’s shrug this time was very faint. “They were happy to send me back.” His sentence died a bit on the end and he turned his head away, squinting off into the darkness. “They made me promise to bring home a degree for Hayato.”

Makoto’s mouth wilted, watching the burning emotion of something bitter rise up to tense Kisumi’s shoulders. “That must have been a hard decision,” he said quietly.

Kisumi stopped walking, and everyone else stopped after. They had all been watching him anyway, but now they did so with a collective breath held in their chests, waiting with an anxious tension as Kisumi dipped his head and buried his face in Saba-Mochi’s fur, his arms tight around her. His body began to tremble from head to foot. Saba-Mochi made a noise that sounded peculiarly sympathetic, and she turned her head to lick his hair.

It was quiet at first, but the hiccuping hitches of his breath made themselves known very quickly and his twitching shoulders didn’t help to hide anything. Asahi felt a shivering ache roll down his body. His knees trembled and his chest longed to do something, but he found himself rooted and frightfully unresponsive.

Makoto, however, was a silent shield, moving forward to wrap his arms around Kisumi and hold him against his chest, and Kisumi broke down completely.

Asahi had never noticed before, but they weren’t that far off from one another height wise. If Makoto hadn’t unexpectedly shot up another few inches since they’d started college, they might have only been a few centimeters off from one another. It was enough for Kisumi to bury his face in Makoto’s shoulder with Saba-Mochi smushed comfortably between them, licking at Kisumi’s temple now as he sobbed into Makoto’s shirt.

It was muffled and extremely broken, but Asahi just picked up the anguished moan of, “I don’t want to be here,” and his heart dropped into his stomach.

Apparently, so did Makoto’s, because he reached up to hold a hand to the back of Kisumi’s hair and propped his chin on Kisumi’s shoulder, staring down at the ground with a watery gaze that spilled over quickly. He whispered a sincere and honesty apology on behalf of every force that had gotten Kisumi to that spot, and allowed his own tears to quietly fall down his cheeks as he firmly held onto Kisumi with every amount of strength and comfort that he could give.

Asahi didn’t understand. This scene very nearly did not compute to him, but — and perhaps maybe even because — every tear that got soaked up by the fabric of their shirts stung his soul. Was Makoto crying because Kisumi was crying? Or was he actually sad? Was this an act of empathy, or was Makoto’s apology a legitimate response to a sorrow he felt responsible for, as though he was Kisumi’s pain? Why, even though hugging Kisumi seemed to make him cry harder, did such an embrace radiate so much ability, so much comfort, as though it had a healing quality that went so deep it couldn’t be understood from the outside? But also … shouldn’t that be Asahi standing there holding Kisumi like that? Shouldn’t he be the one catching Kisumi’s tears with his shoulder and tangling his fingers in the back of his hair? He wasn’t a cat, but shouldn’t he be the one consolingly kissing Kisumi’s temple?

He felt a pull in the very center of his forehead, of tension, a slow grimace that was just as confused as it was unsettled as it was jealous. His eyes glanced away for a brief moment, just to catch Haru’s gaze. Predictably, there was seemingly no difference in his expression, except that there was, but it wasn’t what Asahi would have guessed it’d be. He too was watching the tenderness of this moment, and there was something in his eyes that allowed itself to be pacified with understanding. He frowned, but it didn’t seem to have anything to do with any rising possessiveness that may or may not have wanted to force this moment to end. He instead met Asahi’s gaze and gave him a look that was quite intentional, one that communicated how he understood everything Asahi was struggling not to feel right now, but he also silently suggested that this was important, and that Asahi should never forget what it looked like, because one day he would need to understand it.

* * *

He wanted to regret agreeing to bring Makoto and the cat to the train station, but he couldn’t. For whatever reason, associating any kind of negative energy with Makoto was just exhausting. It felt wrong, like stepping on a bunny just because it ate the carrot he wanted — like he wouldn’t have taken one look at that twitching nose and shared whatever he had anyway.

Kisumi didn’t appear any less sullen when the moment had finally ended, but the shadow engulfing his aura seemed to have taken some kind of beating. He wasn’t happy, but his tears stopped flowing. He probably still didn’t have any desire to be in Tokyo, but the bitterness didn’t linger. Something about being shrouded by Makoto had helped Kisumi accept the moment he was in, to submit to being where he was, and Asahi couldn’t be mad at their friend for that. But he wished Makoto’s tenderness didn’t make him look so inept at handling Kisumi’s grief on his own. He might have made himself look that way, but he would have rather been given the chance to fuck it up on his own, instead of having to follow up on an act he already knew he couldn’t compete with.

It had been mostly quiet on the way back to Haru and Makoto’s place, but now that their companions had been dropped off and Asahi and Kisumi were alone, the silence was damn near suffocating. He tried to think of something to say, but everything he came up with just sounded inappropriate.

He had once prided himself on being able to make Kisumi laugh through anything, but now seemed to be the worst time for that. He didn’t really know how to be comforting otherwise. So the short ride over to Kisumi’s apartment was made with no interaction, and then he found himself absently following Kisumi up the stairs and down the walkway to his unit. But that was as far as he got, because, as Kisumi was unlocking the door, he suddenly realized he may or may not even be wanted there, so he didn’t move any further forward when Kisumi got the door open.

Kisuni turned around and stared at him expectantly until Asahi realized he was still carrying his bag and slipped it off of his shoulders to hand it over. Kisumi took it and turned back around to step across the threshold. Asahi felt his chest pull.

“Kisumi …”

Kisumi stopped, standing in the doorway in a way that only allowed space enough for his own body to fill it. His hand stayed on the doorknob, ready to close it and shut everything out. His purple eyes looked back at Asahi, but they didn’t see him, and Asahi could feel his soul quivering under the cold detachment in that gaze. He couldn’t tell what Kisumi felt in this moment, if he was mad, if he was indifferent, if he was annoyed, if he was harboring any hint of longing.

He had liked to think, to pretend, to imagine, that even though Kisumi hadn’t talked to him at all while he was gone, that he was just silently mourning not being able to be with Asahi. He had imagined him reading Asahi’s many texts and sighing with some kind of desire, maybe simply not responding because he couldn’t bear to communicate with Asahi while there was so much space between them. He had imagined him staring up at his ceiling at night, soothing himself to sleep with wishful thoughts that they’d be able to reunite soon and build a life together, maybe not unlike Makoto and Haru were doing. Asahi wasn’t a cat person, but if Kisumi wanted one, he would give in, with a single pleading blink of those eyes Asahi would give in to whatever he wanted, anything he wanted. They could live in Iwatobi together. Asahi could survive without finishing college in Tokyo. He would be willing to earn his keep as a fisherman, if he could return home to a happy, smiling face and bright purple eyes every night.

Maybe he’d just simply been hoping that Kisumi had been sharing some of his own thoughts while he was away. Maybe he’d just simply been hoping that Kisumi had somehow, someway missed him too. It might not have been in the stomach-churning, heart-aching way that Asahi had missed him, but even just a little bit would be fine.

“Do you … I-I can sit with you for a bit, if you want,” he said, fingers numb as he curled them back around the lining of his pockets.

Kisumi was quiet for a very uncomfortable while. He thought about it, but there was nothing in his gaze that suggested he wanted that at all. It looked more like he was trying to find the right way to reject Asahi’s offer nicely.

“I’m just going to go to sleep, Asahi,” he said, confirming just that. His weight shifted and he dropped his gaze. “I’m tired.”

Asahi tried to hold the pieces of his heart together. It was fine. He’d be fine. That made perfect sense. It was nearly one o’clock in the morning. Kisumi had just gotten off of a seven-hour train ride. There were heavy things in his life, and that had nothing to do with Asahi.

He nodded vacantly and shuffled back a step. “Yeah. Okay. Just um … let me know if you need anything, I guess. I can … I’ll bring your mail by tomorrow. I have … It’s still at my place.”

He tossed a thumb over his shoulder, but his eyes were on the ground now and he could feel his cheeks beginning to burn, so he stiffly tried to walk away, but his feet were being very stubborn and they kept wanting to turn him back around. So for an awkward moment, he did a shuffling pace, about-facing several times before he forced his knees to lock and awkwardly bowed like he was apologizing to his high school principal for defacing school property — which was entirely stupid.

“G-Goodnight, Kisumi. I’m … I hope you get some rest.”

And then he turned away and all but ran, and it was humiliating. But more than that, it was devastating, because none of that had gone even remotely the way he’d been hoping it would for the nine weeks he’d been imagining the moment he’d see Kisumi again.

Kisumi was not the same.

He had been terrified that Kisumi coming back to him different might mean that Asahi would feel differently about him, and maybe their chances of being together would be ruined by the crumbling of that thing called “growing apart,” but in fact it seemed the very opposite was true, because Kisumi _had_ come back, and he _was_ different, and Asahi was so in love with him that he could feel the very embers of his being burning themselves alive with a pain that was so consuming it almost canceled itself out.

He stumbled home, chest tight and barely breathing the entire way. His throat was entirely swollen. His body was all ready to cry. It didn’t.

He cursed the gods, all of them, every single one of them for this hell they had pulled Kisumi into. By default, he’d been sucked right in with him, and yet, for whatever reason, they couldn’t suffer it together. Kisumi had his place, Asahi had his, and even though the number of miles between them had been significantly shaved down, the ground had fallen out between them within the time it had taken to bring them back together, and they were both more alone in the same city now than they had ever been alone in different ones.

He fell onto his bed when he got back to his dorm. He didn’t take his shoes off, didn’t remove his jacket, didn’t even think about changing his clothes this time, and he was pretty sure he didn’t sleep either.


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ["Karma"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vy1JwiXHwI4) by AJR was the song that I went back to the most, while writing this thing. It's basically Asahi's anthem for the remainder of the story. It's got a really upbeat, quick-paced tempo that sounds like perpetual running, and lyrics that are in constant denial of looking for something that's not there. It feels cyclical and aimless, and is basically perfect for how Asahi ends up dealing with all of this.

“I think he’s mad at me.”

He had stopped bothering with rotation drills the moment Haru appeared in the lane next to him, and now they were just taking up space in the corner of the pool, watching the water ripple out from their shoulders as splashes and whistles and critiquing shouts continued to fill the room around them.

It was Monday evening. Asahi had not brought Kisumi his mail yesterday, because he had become something of a coward and wimped out, which was very unlike him, and now he felt like a gelatin sack with no spine. He had sent Kisumi a text, had let him know that he’d be working at Marron most of the day so that he would know where to find him, had told him to let him know if he needed anything, and of course he would have stuck to his word to show up, should he find his presence was at all desired. But Kisumi hadn’t said anything to him, and Asahi had allowed the silence and gone straight home after work, because he couldn’t stomach the thought of possibly being rejected at Kisumi’s doorstep again.

What a loser.

“Why would he be mad at you?” Haru asked, squatting down enough that his chin was touching the surface of the pool.

Asahi shrugged, gaze unfocused as it stared out at nothing and yet saw the emptiness in Kisumi’s lavender gaze staring right back at him. “I don’t know. I’m sure I was probably an ass at some point. I kind of yelled at him right after our accident that day he left.”

“From what you told me, I’m sure he didn’t even notice.”

“Then maybe I offended him with an insensitive text message.”

“It’s hard to offend Kisumi.”

“Maybe not so much when he’s fragile. Maybe my dumb ‘Happy birthday, please come back’ message made him realize how actually stupid I am.” 

“Asahi.”

“Do you think he’s upset that I didn’t send him anything?”

“No.” There was an exasperated drop to Haru’s tone and expression alike, but Asahi didn’t snap out of his daze to glance at the look on his face. “Kisumi’s not mad at you.”

Asahi’s brow furrowed. “What else would it be then?”

“Something more complicated than that.”

“He didn’t talk to me the whole time he was gone,” Asahi said, finally blinking and turning his eyes onto his pensive friend, who patiently stared back. “But somehow Makoto got a hold of him, and now they’ve been communicating non-stop, and he was the one who got to make Kisumi feel better when he finally got here.” Asahi looked away again. “He barely even looked at me.”

“Why does it matter who makes him feel better?”

Asahi grimaced bitterly. “Don’t act like that didn’t make you feel some type of way.”

Haru exhaled a tired breath. “It doesn’t matter how I felt about it, that moment wasn’t about me. And it wasn’t about Makoto either.”

Asahi felt his lips frowning and sank a little deeper with it, dipping his mouth into the pool.

“Makoto is good at feeling what other people feel,” Haru said, shifting just a little bit. “He knows how to make you the most important person in the world when he talks to you, so you know that he’s listening closely, and that he wants whatever you want, and whatever pain you feel hurts him just as much. Kisumi has been talking to Makoto, because he feels like Makoto understands, and to some extent, he does. Hayato is very precious to him, and he cries all the time about him being sick. Also, he’s just as much of an older brother as Kisumi is, so they’ve shared a lot of the same burdens of being responsible and protective of other people. He knows how he would feel if Ren or Ran were in the same situation, so he can relate to Kisumi in that way. None of that has anything to do with you.”

Asahi’s expression pinched, because all of that made perfect sense, but none of it made him feel any better. “Why does it feel like he’s pushing me away then?”

At this Haru’s contemplative stare seemed significantly less sure. “I don’t know.”

Asahi turned his head away, because his cheeks were beginning to burn with frustration. “This fucking sucks.”

“What were you expecting from him?”

His shoulders tensed guiltily. “I don’t know,” he whined, voice quivering. He looked back. “What was I _supposed_ to expect? We only had an actual fucking moment and established that we both like each other right before he left, should I not have hoped that he’d actually let me help him with any of this shit? Was thinking that he might actually have missed me while he was gone completely stupid? His kid brother is dying for chrissake, how shitty of a person am I to want him to come back and be with me so badly?”

Haru’s expression didn’t change, but once again, Asahi felt that moment of kindred understanding, and this time he wanted nothing to do with it. His body quaked as he looked away again, jaw tight, fists clenched. His throat was swollen again, nostrils burning, chest full. His body was all ready.

“It’s not stupid, Asahi,” Haru said. “And you’re not a shitty person. No one expects you to feel any different than how you actually feel. But you shouldn’t worry so much about wanting Kisumi to feel any different either.”

Asahi shuddered and raked wet hands up through the back of his hair, pulling his neck down. “Fuck.”

“Go and see him today. Try to talk to him.”

“What if he closes the door in my face?”

“Then let him close the door in your face, and try again later.”

Asahi inhaled and just held it for a brief moment, really trying his damnedest to understand Haru and his oh-so-perfectly-sensical “just do this” logic. Sure, yeah, because what could go wrong with that? It wasn’t like having the door closed in his face was actually going to hurt him. He could shake it off easy breezy, no problem. Fuck.

He exhaled a sloppy sigh and turned to pull himself out of the pool. “Goddammit.”

“He’s sensitive right now, Asahi.”

“I know … Fuck.”

It was a blur, finishing up with practice, showering, changing, swinging his bag over his shoulder to leave. He stopped by his dorm, this time kicking his neighbor’s door just because he was irritated and their workout music was way too goddamn loud. And before he could really think any cowardly thoughts about turning around, he was standing outside of Kisumi’s apartment.

His jaw locked, and for a moment he couldn’t move, just dipped his head with a grimace and touched his forehead to the door, trying to gather the strength, the courage, the confidence. This was ridiculous, all of this anxiety. He’d never had to fight such a stringent battle against it before these last couple of months. That day at the American-style diner, where they had eaten stacks of chocolate chip waffles and plates of bacon, and he had known he was all kinds of fucked with Kisumi … He’d never expected that that kind of fucked would also mean he’d be flailing for his life, trying not to drown while holding up a Kisumi that seemed entirely repulsed by Asahi’s attempts to help him. Shit.

Fucking shit, goddammit. Could you take back falling for someone? Was that a thing? Could he even pinpoint the moment he had fallen for Kisumi if he really wanted to take it back? He didn’t want to take it back.

He knocked.

There was silence.

He knocked again. “Kisumi?”

He glanced over the rail down toward the street where Kisumi’s car was parked. He sighed to himself and just waited, and it took an achingly long time of him trying to be patient with his knocking, trying not to get worked up and start screaming and pounding on the door. _He’s sensitive right now, Asahi_.

It took at least three minutes, but the door did eventually open, and Asahi found himself fucked all over again, because for what reason did his very being think this was an appropriate moment to be thoroughly attracted to the sight of him?

Kisumi squinted against the sun, because it was setting right behind Asahi’s back, but also it was quite apparent that he had just rolled out of bed, because his hair was more of a mess than Asahi had ever seen it, sticking up in every which way that it could go. There were bags under his eyes, but the glow of the sun did something warm to his skin and added a layer behind those lavender irises that Asahi hadn’t seen in such a long time. He was wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of black boxer-briefs that were just barely visible, and oops … Asahi’s gaze lingered on his legs for too long, but not without noticing that he seemed to have lost just a little bit of muscle mass.

Kisumi rubbed his eye and leaned with exhaustion against the door. He sighed. “Asahi,” he said, his voice groggy and slightly annoyed at having been woken just to be stared at in the doorway.

Asahi blinked and shook his head, returning his gaze to Kisumi’s face. “Sorry. Were you asleep?” Which was a stupid question.

The corner of Kisumi’s lips just barely wilted. He didn’t respond.

Asahi stiffened and looked away to shuffle through his bag and pull out a stack of mostly junk mail that he handed over. Kisumi took it without bothering to look and just let it hang down by his side. Then they just stood there, and the expectation felt eerily familiar, if only because it laughed with mockery in the face of the last time he and Kisumi had paused for so long before parting ways, hovering with an anticipation that had eventually led to their first kiss, and this most definitely wasn’t like that at all. Kisumi still looked rather irritated, if but tiredly so. But he didn’t just close the door in Asahi’s face, so Asahi took as much courage from that as he could.

“Can … Can I come in?”

A solemn breath escaped Kisumi’s nose and he turned his face away to hide it behind the door so that Asahi couldn’t see whatever struggle was going on with it, though he didn’t miss Kisumi’s grip tightening on the door. His heart hit his chest with a nasty beat, watching this, and even though Kisumi eventually turned away and walked off with the door still open, Asahi couldn’t say he felt all that relieved when he followed him inside and closed them both in the apartment.

He watched carefully as Kisumi dropped his mail on the kitchen counter and then wandered into the bathroom and turned the faucet on to splash his face with water. Asahi dropped his gaze and toed off his shoes. He left his bag at the door and meandered further into the apartment only to find himself unsure whether or not he should sit, so he just hovered by the table they usually did their homework at and curled his fingers in his pockets, staring around the room, taking in Kisumi’s rumpled bed sheets and the smatter of clothes leaving a trail to the book bag he’d brought back with him, as though he’d searched its contents for something specific and then had left everything else where it had been tossed.

Kisumi was usually a tidy being. He had once remarked that Asahi’s tendency to dump clean laundry into a pile on the floor irritated the hell out of him, because his shirts were going to wrinkle, and why couldn’t he just take the extra few minutes to put his clothes away? And Asahi had responded that folding was too much of a hassle, and ew, why would he ever iron his pants?

“Are you going to go to class at all this week?” he found himself asking as Kisumi shut the lights off in the bathroom and sauntered over to plop facedown on his bed.

“What’s the point?” his muffled voice mumbled into the sheets. “I’m going to have to retake them anyway.”

“Maybe not. There’s still about a month left in the term. Most of your professors were really understanding about the situation. I’m sure they’d —”

“I’m not going to class, Asahi.” Kisumi turned his head to the side to stare at the wall. He stuffed his hands beneath his pillow and drew it underneath his cheek. “I’ll just pick it back up next semester.”

Asahi pressed his lips together and dropped his eyes to the floor. “Okay.”

“I know you didn’t come to ask me about school,” Kisumi said, his voice quiet. “Why are you here?”

That hurt just a little bit, because shouldn’t Kisumi know why he was there? He understood Asahi cared about him, right? He was the one who had made Asahi admit it out loud before all of this.

His legs were shaking underneath him, but he managed to move forward and sit on the edge of Kisumi’s bed, closer to his feet with his back turned so he couldn’t actually get distracted staring at the backs of his thighs. All he could see when he looked over his shoulder was Kisumi’s blank, frowning stare trained on the wall. He lowered his eyes back to the floor.

“Why else would I be here, shithead?” he said, his voice coming out in a soft whisper. “You’re not okay, and I’m concerned about you.”

“You don’t need to be.”

“Why not?” Asahi looked back with a furrowed brow again, because that hurt even more. “Shouldn’t I be, Kisumi? You know my feelings for you haven’t changed just because of this.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

Asahi’s throat closed, and it felt like someone was dragging a burning stake up through his chest, carving it apart. His body swelled with tension, begging him to react to that, but he just found himself blurting out a breathless, “Fine.”

His fingers curled around the edge of the mattress and he grit his teeth against the inclination to be angry. “We’re supposed to be friends anyway,” he said instead. “You’ve always helped me through all the shit I’ve ever been through. Can’t I help you with this too?”

Kisumi was quiet, but Asahi could see the frown deepening on his brow. His fingers squeezed the pillow.

“Why didn’t you answer any of my calls?”

He caught the gloss springing up to Kisumi’s eyes right before he turned his face into the pillow to hide it. A hot shudder ripped its way up Asahi’s spine.

“You couldn’t have texted me back at least once?” he pressed. “I was worried about you. All I wanted was to know that you were okay.”

“No you didn’t,” Kisumi’s voice whispered from the center of the pillow. His shoulders tensed and began to quiver.

That one felt like a punch to the gut. “What do you mean?” Asahi shot back, turning his body to square his shoulders. “You think I didn’t care how you were feeling?”

Kisumi shook his head, pressing his face deeper into the pillow. “I _know_ you cared. That’s not it.”

“Then what is? Why would you shut me out like that?”

“Because I didn’t want to come back!”

Asahi frowned, shoulders dropping as he watched Kisumi’s body shiver while he took a long moment to whimper into his pillow. He didn’t know what to do with that. And he wasn’t quite sure how to process Kisumi’s exclamation either. He just knew that he was standing on the front lines of a battlefield and whatever flimsy little shield he’d been given to protect himself with was failing to stop the shots piercing his body. That one hit him right under his navel and it took a lot of self-control not to fall forward onto the floor in a useless heap.

He wasn’t exactly helpful just sitting there either though.

“I couldn’t talk to you,” Kisumi finally said, his voice still shaking. “I knew if I did, you’d find a way to convince me to come back and I’d immediately fall for it. And fucking shit, that’s exactly what happened.”

“What do you mean?” Asahi asked, aghast. “We never spoke to each other.”

Kisumi beat his feet against the mattress. “I listened to your fucking message!”

“Kisumi, I left you that message a _month_ ago.”

“I ignored it! I’m sorry,” he wailed. His hiccuping sobs sounded so helpless, they were eating Asahi alive and he had no idea what to do to stop them. “I didn’t listen to it. I wanted to delete it, but I couldn’t, and then I was stupid and so fucking sad, and I just wanted to hear your voice, so I gave in and clicked on it, and now I’m here. So fuck you!”

He popped up suddenly and whipped his pillow back at Asahi’s face, and Asahi just sat there stunned for a moment as Kisumi pulled his knees up and buried his face in them, his back still to Asahi, who had no fucking idea how to feel right now. So of course anger would be the first thing he recognized.

“If you don’t want to be here, then go home,” he said, his voice entirely uneven and not at all inconspicuous about the hurt in his chest, because quite obviously Kisumi really just wanted to be in Iwatobi with his family and wanted nothing to do with Asahi right now, and he didn’t want to be the reason why Kisumi was struggling so hard about this, so they should just fucking drop it and pretend that nothing had ever happened between them.

But then Kisumi looked back at him and the pain in his water-logged eyes was too much for Asahi, and he could feel his stomach dropping again.

“Do you think it was an easy decision to make?” he said, breath catching on every other word. “To leave you in the first place?”

Asahi frowned, because actually yes, he had never once thought Kisumi had given leaving a second thought. He wouldn’t have expected him to.

“You left so fast.”

“That doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it,” Kisumi argued. “I couldn’t even sort out what about all of this hurt the most, and I felt so fucking guilty for missing you and wanting to be with you when Hayato was so sick. I _still_ feel that way. I still don’t know what to do. He’s my brother and I can’t believe I’m agreeing to be so far away from him when I have no fucking idea if he’ll even make it to the next time I see him, and I don’t even know when that will be, but you asked me to come back, and I couldn’t just —”

He didn’t get to finish, because Asahi yanked him into his chest, and he probably would have lost his voice to his tears anyhow, because the moment Asahi folded his arms around him, he broke down in that same heart-breaking way that he had the other night when Makoto had held onto him.

Asahi didn’t cry. He wanted to, but he didn’t, so he just hugged Kisumi as firmly as he knew how and let his skin burn and tingle and itch with the longing to somehow get closer to him. Kisumi’s fingers curled desperately around his jacket and he wept like a child into Asahi collarbone, head tucked just beneath Asahi’s chin. He still didn’t know what to feel. He still didn’t know what to do. He wasn’t sure if this kind of embrace carried the same comfort Makoto’s did, but it was all he could think of for a good thirty seconds before his breath hitched and he stood up, pulling Kisumi off of the bed with him.

He grabbed a random pair of pants from off the floor and pressed them to Kisumi’s chest. “Put these on. Come with me.”

Kisumi’s movements were shaky and slow, but he pulled the pants on, and he futilely wiped at his eyes while Asahi slipped shoes onto his feet, and he sniffed and tried to calm down as Asahi pulled him out of the apartment with a grip on his hand.

Once again, nothing was said on the ride to Asahi’s dorm, and Asahi cursed at his neighbor under his breath this time as he unlocked the door to his room. Kisumi was still wiping his eyes when Asahi toted him inside and closed the door behind him, and he just stood where Asahi left him when he went to pull a box out from the desk drawer. He pinched the front of Kisumi’s shirt to drag him further into the room and shoved the box into his arms.

Kisumi’s eyes were red and puffy at this point, cheeks blotched with color, and it was really quite pitiful, but in a cute kind of way that it really shouldn’t have been, and Asahi just wished his brain could take something seriously for once.

“What’s this?”

“A surprise,” Asahi said. “It was supposed to be for later, but you’re being fucking pathetic and I can’t watch this anymore. So open it.”

Kisumi passed the back of his thumb across his eyes one more time, sniffed, and lifted the lid. The very moment he saw the stacks of yen filling it to the brim, his body dropped, and thank goodness Asahi had gotten him close enough to the bed beforehand. He plopped down onto the corner, eyes already swimming again as he looked up at Asahi in shock. A crease formed on his forehead, and Asahi couldn’t tell if it was made of anger, pain, confusion, relief or what. He very nearly looked like he was half a second from throwing the box across the room.

“What is this?” he moaned.

“Money,” Asahi said. “For you and your family. That’s only some of it. Me and Ikuya set up a whole page and separate account for people to send donations to. At first we just wanted to get enough together to cover travel expenses so that you could see your family as much as you wanted, but it turns out you have a lot of friends and this city is full of good people. We started getting more than we excepted, so we’ve been donating some of it to children’s hospitals for cancer research.”

Kisumi cupped his hands around his nose, staring up at Asahi with shaking shoulders and a face that grew increasingly deep with color. The tears were nonstop at this point, and Asahi couldn’t help but think how impressive the color purple was when it was shimmering in the summer evening sunlight pouring through his window.

“Asahi,” was the only thing Kisumi seemed to be able to get out of his mouth, and it came out incredibly warbled with emotion.

He crouched down, taking a page from Makoto’s book, so that Kisumi wouldn’t have to look up at him.

“It’s late,” he said, staring directly back at those iridescent eyes. “But this was the best thing I could come up with as a birthday present from like literally everybody. Yua from kendo club gave me the idea. She wanted to help you, because she’s been through exactly everything you’re going through right now, and I _really_ think you should fucking talk to her. And your video production club practically forced me to join them so that I could help them turn their film festival into a fundraiser for you, because everybody here just wants to fucking help you, motherfucker. So will you please stay in school, and please let us support you, and please let me do this _with_ you?”

He had gotten a grip on Kisumi’s hand during this and was holding it tightly against his chest, kneeling on both knees in front of this boy that he was more than sure he was in love with, and he just wished Kisumi would stop being so goddamn heartbreakingly adorable.

“I’m sorry,” Kisumi whimpered, hiding his face in the hand Asahi wasn’t holding captive.

Asahi removed the box from Kisumi’s lap and pulled him down to the floor with him to fully get both arms around him again and allow him to bury his face in his shoulder. Kisumi’s hands gripped the back of his jacket again.

“You don’t have to apologize, idiot,” he said pressing his nose to Kisumi’s shoulder. He felt his muscles unravel with relief at the smell of oranges. “Just promise me that you won’t shut me out, and come to this dumb film festival, because we made a movie for you, and it would be really awkward if you weren’t there to watch it.”

Kisumi made a noise, and it sounded like it tried to be a laugh but was really just more hiccuping sobs. He nodded. “I promise.”

“Everything’s going to be okay, Kisumi.”

Kisumi shuddered and squeezed Asahi tighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s gotten epically quiet in here. I pray I’m not just killing you slowly. Alright, I admit it, I’m a little sadistic as a writer, but there’s light somewhere in all this rubbish. Don’t die on me. I enjoy your comments.


	18. Chapter 18

“What a way to ruin the surprise,” Ikuya drawled as he, Asahi, and Hiyori made their way on foot to Kisumi’s apartment.

Ikuya and Hiyori hadn’t wanted to show up to a Hidaka University event without anyone from the actual school, and Haru and Makoto were going to be late, so they had decided to crash Asahi’s dorm in the midst of him getting ready, and after taking all of their jibes about how no amount of gel was going to make his hair cooperate, and that throwing a blazer over a t-shirt and jeans just made him look like a douchebag, they had finally made it out into the thick Friday evening air to pick up Kisumi.

“No one needed to see his reaction anyway,” he said, pulling on the cuffs of his sleeves. “It was painful. He was a fucking mess.”

“As is to be expected, one supposes,” Hiyori said with a shrug. “So he knows this whole thing is a fundraiser for him?”

Asahi nodded. “I think he’s still trying to wrap his brain around the fact that so many people _actually_ love him.”

“Or just one,” Ikuya said casually, looking up at the evening sky as though thoroughly interested in the darkening hues of purple and blue.

Asahi’s nose blushed first this time. “Shut up,” he said, shoving Ikuya’s shoulder, oddly comforted by his smirk. “You know you love him too.”

Ikuya sighed as though it was a bother. “Yeah, I guess. I don’t know why he’d be so surprised though. I was pretty sure he already knew how popular he is, but let him play dumb about it I guess. Also, you know what I meant goddammit.”

Hiyori chuckled, watching Asahi hunch his shoulders to his neck and turn his eyes away.

“Have you told him?” Ikuya asked.

Asahi wrinkled his nose. “Not in so many words,” he mumbled.

“Are there things in this world you won’t be so bold about?” Hiyori said with mock curiosity.

“I really wish you’d pick a different tone of voice every once in a while.”

“How would you ever know when I’m being sincere?”

“I fucking don’t, dipshit.”

Ikuya grinned and propped an elbow on Asahi’s shoulder. “It’s nice to see that fire still going, Asahi.”

Asahi scoffed, brushing Ikuya’s arm away and trying not to smile. “I don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t.”

Ikuya and Hiyori dropped back as they came upon Kisumi’s building, and Asahi went on ahead, informing them that he’d bring him down. Hiyori sent a teasing comment behind Asahi’s back about kissing Kisumi hello and Asahi brushed it off, even though, now that it was in his head, it was all he could think about as he knocked on the door.

However, when it opened, that thought disappeared in the instant Kisumi’s red-rimmed eyes came into view. Visually, he was much more kempt than the first time he’d answered the door that week, now with his hair styled very intentionally and his body fashioned in a thin black long sleeve pushed up to his elbows and slim grey jeans, but there was a somberness about his aura that immediately leaked out the door and curled a chill up Asahi’s spine. Kisumi wiped the last of the tears Asahi had missed from the corner of his eye and turned away, leaving the door open.

“Hey, Asahi,” he said frailly after a sniff. “I’m almost ready.”

“What’s wrong?” Asahi asked, stepping in. “Did something happen?”

Kisumi shook his head and attempted a weak smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “No, everything’s okay.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m not crying.”

“Why _were_ you crying?”

He followed Kisumi to the bathroom and watched him analyze his reflection in the mirror, turning on the cold water to trace wet fingers around the warm red parts of his face. Kisumi didn’t answer the question, and took a long while to cool himself off, successfully getting his skin to fade back to its normal complexion, even though his eyes remained red. He pinched at specific locks of hair and readjusted them, then glanced to Asahi’s reflection standing behind him, and tried that smile again. It still wasn’t right.

“You look very handsome, Asahi.”

Asahi did his best not frown. He stepped into the bathroom and faced Kisumi from the side. “Ikuya and Hiyori said I look like a try-hard.”

Kisumi hummed and shut the water off. He gave his reflection one last glance, then turned to Asahi and unnecessarily straightened his blazer for him with a shake of his head.

“Not at all. Business casual, not too flashy, but well-groomed. Very appropriate for the event. You look good. You know those two like to pull your leg.”

Asahi just nodded, watching Kisumi smooth his hands down his lapels. The violet-eyed boy didn’t look at Asahi, and in fact he seemed to be putting specific effort into not lifting his gaze. Asahi’s head tilted and he lifted his hand to brush his thumb softly over his cheek, catching a stray tear as it managed to get away.

“Kisumi …”

“Dammit,” Kisumi hissed, turning away. He yanked open the cabinet under the sink and shuffled around for a wash cloth that he soaked with cold water, squeezed out, and then pressed against his eyes as he hunched over the sink and leaned his elbows on the edge.

Asahi exhaled a long breath and touched a hand to his back, tentatively at first, and then when Kisumi did little to respond, he just stood there rubbing his palm across his shoulders and up and down his spine, waiting patiently while Kisumi sniffled and shivered. It was more bearable when he was quiet about it, though Asahi couldn’t say he liked this either.

It took a good five minutes for Kisumi to breathe in deeply and let out a controlled sigh. He sniffed one more time, then straightened his back and draped the wash cloth over the sink. He checked his reflection again, smoothing his fingers over his eyebrows, touching the tops of his cheeks. His nose was red now.

“Kisumi, we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to.”

Kisumi looked over with a slightly appalled gaze. “No, I want to. You guys worked so hard. I want to be there. That’s not …” His brow started to bend and he dropped his gaze. “That’s not it at all.”

Asahi took a step closer, hand smoothing lightly down his back one more time. “Then what is it?” 

Kisumi shook his head and patted Asahi’s chest. “Let’s not talk so much right now. I’ll never be able to pull myself together.” He turned away and left the bathroom, shutting off the lights along the way, knowing Asahi would follow. “It’s nothing to worry about anyway,” he added, picking up a sterling silver bracelet to slip around his wrist.

“Of course I’m worried,” Asahi said, eyes following his every move.

Kisumi’s lips lifted up in the corners, but it still wasn’t a true Kisumi smile. “You’re so sweet, Asahi. Let’s go, okay? Ikuya and Hiyori are waiting. Can you grab my keys off the counter?”

Asahi let out another breath and turned to grab the keys. He continued to monitor Kisumi carefully as he clipped his anchor necklace around his neck, and picked the right shoes, and gently brushed his fingers through his hair as they left the apartment and descended the stairs, and the what-was-now-becoming-painful way he smiled at Ikuya and Hiyori and gave them both hugs. He asked Asahi if he could drive under his breath and Asahi did so without making a big deal of it, but he definitely continued to shoot anxious glances at Kisumi during the ride to the auditorium. 

He didn’t cry again, not in that moment or in several of the moments after, but it lingered there, the sadness. It _had_ _been_ lingering there, all week, and Asahi knew it was nothing to be surprised about, he just wished it wasn’t such a soul-sucking thing clinging to Kisumi’s bones like a saturated sheet. He wanted him to feel light, not weighed down. He wanted him to enjoy something, but it seemed, he could only do so much as hope for the best and try — as Makoto had said — to be positive.

“Kisumi-kun!”

Yua and Ichika found them the moment they walked into the lobby of the auditorium, which was thriving with a teeming mass of suave-looking college students and cultured adults. The smile that Yua gave Kisumi was as bright as the sun, and she stood on her toes to get her arms around his neck and hug him for a very long time.

Asahi let her know several days ago that Kisumi had made it back, but they hadn’t been able to meet again in person until now, and she took full advantage of the moment, tenderly brushing consoling fingers over his back. And just like with Makoto, there was something distinctly and deeply comforting about her greeting in a way that couldn’t be seen from the outside. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Yua hummed, swaying with the hug.

“It’s good to see you too, Yua-san,” Kisumi said, dropping his shoulders as he relaxed into her embrace. “I’m sorry we haven’t talked. Asahi told me about all of your help. I’m so grateful.”

“Not at all,” she said, pulling away to hold his face in her hands and smile some more. “I’m so happy you made it tonight. We have to catch up, okay? We’ll get lunch.” 

Kisumi nodded and Yua pulled him down a little more to kiss his forehead, then let him go so he could exchange hugs with Ichika. Yua greeted Asahi with just as much light and enthusiasm, whispering, “I told you it was all going to work out” happily in his ear, before releasing him to then slide into introductions with Ikuya and Hiyori.

Several other people spotted them well before they had a moment to meander any further into the lobby, and Kisumi was slowly swarmed by a mass of friendly faces, a lot of hugs, and greeting bows, and pats on the back and shoulders, and repetitive elation that he’d been able to make it to the event, because literally no one thought that he would. It was a pleasant thing to witness, but also, Asahi continued to watch him very carefully even in the midst of greeting everyone himself. Kisumi was smiling, and returning all the hugs, and nodding his head, and expressing a lot of gratitude, but it was off. It was off in a very subtle way that Asahi wondered if anyone other than him could see right now. He was just so used to Kisumi’s eyes sparkling, but they weren’t.

Makoto and Haru showed up right before they opened the doors to the auditorium to let the crowds flow in. One of the club members found their group and motioned for them to follow her because they’d been saved special seats. There was a table set up by the doors where the crowd was being funneled to pay a small entrance fee and given the opportunity to donate extra, and though Kisumi and crew were told they didn’t need to worry about it, Asahi pulled an envelope out of the pocket of his jacket to hand to one of the members at the table, who nodded with a broad smile and dropped it into the collection. Kisumi noticed, but Asahi slid an arm around his shoulders and kept him walking through the doors before he could hesitate on it. He simply gave him a smile and told him not to worry about it, when Kisumi asked.

The festival had been an all-day event, with viewings of the film submissions being shown in different buildings across campus, all culminating to this moment where select films were being screened and given awards and some of the directors and script writers were given the opportunity to talk about the inspiration behind their projects. They were all thoroughly entertaining. One of them was really weird, and the core theme went right over his head, but it won an audience award, so Asahi just accepted that he wasn’t an art snob and didn’t understand what inherently made a good short film. One of the films was unexpectedly scary, and poor Makoto ended up with his head buried between Haru’s neck and the back of his seat. Ikuya and Hiyori thought it was a riot, but they didn’t tease him about it on account of the look Haru gave them.

There were about six short films in total, and two panels of people who sat on stage to talk, and then the president of the video production club — Fujita Aimi, the most persistent of all the club members, whom Asahi had been working with the most while Kisumi was gone — took the stage and encouraged one final applause for all of the films that had graced the festival.

“It has been a long and beautiful day,” she said, “and we want to close out this event with something very special. Just a couple of months ago, one of our club members received some terrible news and had to leave us unexpectedly. We were unsure if he was going to make it back in time for this event, but he is here today.” Aimi smiled in Kisumi’s direction and presented a hand toward him so that the general audience could pick him out. “And we’re so happy you made it,” she said to him directly, earning his gracious head nod in response, before she addressed the crowd again.

“A lot of you know Shigino Kisumi, and you know exactly why you’re here. But for those of you who don’t, you have been given the honor to participate in a great cause. Kisumi’s eight-year-old, little brother Hayato has been diagnosed with neuroblastoma. It is a terrible form of cancer that can be very aggressive and is rare in children his age. The Shigino family lives in Iwatobi, and it has been very hard for Kisumi to be here with us and continue school while his brother is sick, and we, as his peers and his friends, who love and respect him very much, felt that we needed to do something to help this family in the face of such trying times. So we’ve turned our festival into a fundraiser for them, and everything you have given tonight will go toward travel and medical expenses for the Shigino family so that they can all be together as much as possible as they also continue to move forward and pursue their futures. And we want to thank you very much for your participation already.”

Aimi bowed, and a round of applause was given in response. Asahi glanced to his right. Kisumi’s rapt attention was on everything that Aimi was saying — quiet, still, unreadable.

“And as a gift for Kisumi, to show him our appreciation for his friendship and how much joy he has brought into all of our lives, our club has put together a film of it’s own that will hopefully bring a smile to his face, and we’re going to show it to you tonight. Everyone has worked very hard in a very short amount of time, and we especially want to thank Kisumi’s close friend, Shiina Asahi, for all the help he has lent us in making sure we present Kisumi with something truly special.”

Aimi presented a hand out in Asahi’s direction and he could feel the heat rising in his cheeks and was very grateful the lights were mostly dimmed. Aimi had warned him that she would drop his name on stage, and he was fine with that, but Kisumi also gave him a glance that he, again, could not decipher. And now he was hoping that the film was actually good, which was something he had not thought about at all until this moment. He hadn’t seen the final product. He’d been a part of a good chunk of the shooting, and had given a lot of input for ideas, but he suddenly found himself feeling fully responsible for whatever was to come out of this, be it a lovely gesture or an unsightly train wreck, and he sincerely prayed it wasn’t the latter.

“As a point of inspiration for this film,” Aimi went on, “I asked Shiina what it is that Kisumi enjoys, and he said, ‘Well, Kisumi _loves_ attention.’”

A collective bubble of laughter rippled around the room. Asahi could feel his ears burning now. He had certainly said that, and it was certainly true, and thankfully, Kisumi’s cheeks gave an amused twitch in response.

“That was all we really needed to know actually,” Aimi said, receiving more laughter. “So for you, Kisumi, tonight we present a documentary all about you and the effortless way you have touched each and every one of our lives with your beautiful personality and unforgettable charm. Please enjoy.”

Aimi bowed again and a smattering of applause followed her off the stage. The lights were dimmed all the way down and, after a short clip of beginning credits and melodic music, the film opened with several interspliced shots of Aimi running around campus with a reporter mic in her hand.

_“Excuse me … Excuse me … Excuse me … What can you tell me about Shigino Kisumi?”_

_“Shigino Kisumi?”_

_“Kisumi-kun?”_

_“Shiginooo, that’s my boy!”_

_“Oh, I can tell you everything about Shigino Kisumi.”_

A voiceover began of Aimi giving the basic life facts about Kisumi — when he was born, where he grew up and went to school, his favorite activities, and so on. This was layered over several different shots and home videos taken on various phone cameras. A shot of Iwatobi, pictures of Kisumi when he was younger, highlight videos of him playing basketball, and sitting in club meetings, and making everybody laugh. And this continued, as a chronological flow of Kisumi’s life with interviews peppered in, of a very many people telling personal stories about their time with him, sharing their favorite things about him, describing their first impressions of him and so forth — all positive, feel-good things that incited a lot of laughter with the animation of the interviewees and the clever editing and random close-ups stringing one joke right into another.

The most collective wave of laughter, funny enough, seemed to come from a line in Asahi’s own interview, when Aimi had prompted him to, _“Tell us something interesting that most people don’t know about Kisumi.”_

_“Something interesting? All of Kisumi is interesting … He thinks it’s hilarious when I insult him, that’s interesting. Though, I’m probably not allowed to call him a [bleep] on camera.”_

That was the first thing that made Kisumi laugh. It was faint, not exactly the same Kisumi laugh that he was used to, but Asahi caught it — a huff of an amused breath, exhaled over a smile of admiration as Kisumi shook his head to himself, eyes glued to the screen. Asahi had already been shooting him consistent glances, but now he allowed his gaze to rest there on the side of his face, absorbing that smile as much as he possibly could. It still wasn’t as large, and bright, and carefree as he really wanted it to be, but it was something and he would take it, and he was even more content with it when Kisumi blindly reached over and took his hand. Asahi’s heart skipped a beat when those slender fingers slid between his and squeezed his hand lightly. Kisumi didn’t look away from the movie, but Asahi was okay with that too.

_“Nanase, you’re something of a star athlete in Tokyo as well. One of, if not_ the _, top swimmer here at Hidaka University. That’s quite impressive.”_

The Haru onscreen somehow stared at Aimi with an even more impassive expression than usual. He just shrugged.

_“So you and Kisumi have known each other since middle school. You grew up in the same town, right? What was that like?”_

_“Annoying.”_

_“Haru,”_ hissed Makoto’s voice somewhere off-screen. The swimmer snapped his blue eyes up with a pinch to his expression that got another ripple of laughter from the audience.

_“What’s your favorite thing about Kisumi?”_

Haru’s expression looked somewhat pained, trying to think up an answer. _“His … hair is … pink.”_

Kisumi chuckled. “Oh, Haru,” he sighed, running a hand down his face.

_"That’s a very astute observation, Nanase. What about his personality though?”_

Onscreen Haru’s nose just slightly wrinkled, as though he was struggling to admit defeat to something. He turned his eyes away in that manner he did when he didn’t fully want to submit to his own honesty.

_“He makes my friends happy.”_

This was chased by a chorus of _aww_ ’s, and Asahi saw real-time Haru slide down grumpily in his seat. Ikuya and Hiyori were having an absolute cow on Asahi’s left. Kisumi’s smile was tender. 

Asahi had been in the background during Haru’s interview too. It had been something of a feat just trying to get him to speak in full sentences, let alone to say something nice about Kisumi. It was impressive, that they had managed to squeeze this little bit out of him. It got the right reactions, especially from Kisumi himself, but it was also the only part of the film Haru showed up in, besides some of the pictures. Asahi’s interview, on the other hand, they used a lot.

_“So … you kind of have a soft spot for Kisumi then.”_

Asahi remembered the very moment that that comment had made him go stiff, and it was slight on camera, but he noticed the strain in his expression as he smiled and tried not to look so coy about it.

_“Doesn’t everybody have a soft spot for Kisumi?”_

_“Well sure,”_ Aimi said with a grin, leaning closer to him. _“But you seem to have an_ extra _soft, soft spot, am I wrong?”_

This was where Asahi had allowed his smile to get away a little bit too much and had been disgustingly obvious by the way he’d dropped his gaze. And then Asahi saw the very moment that he had decided to throw caution to the wind on the very off-chance that Kisumi would actually get to see the film in person. His smile changed into a smirk as he lifted his gaze again.

_“So, here’s the thing._ _I would love to be a cocky [bleep] and act all cool about it by just smiling and saying ‘no comment,’ but if I know Kisumi, he’d get a much bigger kick out of me looking directly into the camera -_ _and saying, ‘You’re a pain in the ass, but also, you are absolutely my favorite person in the world … even if I’m not yours.’”_

Kisumi’s brow dipped in the middle. His chest inflated as he pulled in air and just held it there in silence. His grip tightened on Asahi’s hand. And that was the moment in his interview when Asahi had been bombarded by the totality of what they were doing and why, and it showed on his face.

_“[Bleep] … Can you cut that last part?”_

They didn’t, obviously, but Asahi understood why when the tone of the film took a left from there and started pulling at heartstrings with all of the rather intimate and sentimental comments that had been saved for the latter part of the film. It was given a sappy updraft with more teary, melodic music, and Asahi hated that his heart actually started to squeeze under the tenderness, playing right into the hands of the piece. It was contrastingly different from the the humor-ridden first half. This was heartwarming, but in a way that kind of hurt, because there was no escaping the reality of the situation they had all found themselves in, and Aimi had made the decision to encourage all of her interviewees to address that discomfort directly.

_“Kisumi is the sweetest guy I know. I truly hate this for him, and for his family. I look forward to seeing him back at school and shooting hoops again, you know? But I want him to have a smile on his face. I can’t imagine Kisumi without a smile on his face.”_

_“I really just want to give him a hug right now.”_

_“At this point, it’s been like … five weeks since he went home? It feels much longer than that. Kisumi not being around really leaves a hole in your heart, once you’ve gotten to know him.”_

_“It sucks. It really sucks. I wouldn’t put it on anybody, but_ especially _not Kisumi.”_

_“No, I’ve never personally met Hayato, but I know Kisumi loves him more than anything. I’m sure he’s just as much a ray of sunshine as his big brother.”_

The images cut out for a moment, and they were left staring at a black screen as they listened to the sounds of preparation, like equipment being set up, a thump of a mic here and there, and occasional voices.

_“Sound is good.”_

_“Can we adjust the light a little more? ... Yeah, that looks great.”_

_“Okay, we’re good.”_

_“… You ready?”_

_[Long exhale] “Yeah.”_

Asahi sunk his shoulders back against the seat, eyes glancing at the shadow of Kisumi’s face. It was highlighted with the glow of the next shot as past Asahi himself popped up in a rectangle on the left half of the screen, looking anxious, but maybe just to his own eyes, because he knew that he had been in that moment. His eyes looked over the camera to the crew sitting behind the scenes and he nodded at whatever last-minute instruction he’d been given in that moment. Then another rectangle popped up on the right side of the screen, this time with Hayato filling up the frame.

Kisumi’s entire body dropped back, eyes immediately glossing over as he pulled his knees up and cupped his hands over his nose. Yua leaned over the seat behind him and held a packet of tissues over his shoulder. He took one and she left a massaging hand on his shoulder.

_“Hey, Hayato.”_

_“Hi, Asa-chan!”_

Hayato’s smile was bright and excited. His movements fidgety. They had done a good job in post-editing with the lighting and color contrast, because Hayato’s complexion had been much more grey and translucent when Asahi had talked to him. Though, there was still a heavy presence of fatigue about him, and his body already looked much smaller than it was supposed to, skin patchy and bruised on his arms, his salmon hair thin.

Asahi had forced himself to smile, but his stomach had been turning for the entirety of the hour or so he’d spent talking to Hayato over video call. He’d been extremely hesitant about it initially, because he had known it would be a struggle not to be sensitive and hyperaware of the fact that this precious, smiling child was deathly ill, and Aimi had offered to do the interview herself, but he knew Hayato would have been too shy to speak comfortably with a stranger, so he had taken a very long time to prepare himself, and that had been caught on some of the audio during the black screen moment right before this scene.

_“Are you hiding?”_

_“Yeah.”_ Hayato’s smile turned into the kind that knew it was carrying a juicy secret. He glanced once over his shoulder and leaned on his elbows close to the screen. _“My mom made Oniichan go to the store with Sou-chan.”_

_“Perfect. You didn’t tell him, did you?”_

Hayato giggled. _“No.”_

_“Good. Have you ever been in an interview before?”_

Hayato shook his head, smile wide. _“No. Have you been in an interview before?”_

_“I’ve been interviewed, but I’ve never been the one asking the questions. So, I guess we’ll fail together, huh?”_

_[Giggle]_

_“So, we’re making a movie for your brother, and we want you to be part of it, since you’re his favorite person ever. Is it okay if you’re in it?”_

_“Yeah. Are you gonna be in it too?”_

_[Chuckle] “Just a little bit probably. Can I ask you some questions?”_

Hayato nodded his head with enthusiasm. _“Mhm!”_

_“Okay then, first question. What is the best part about having Kisumi as a big brother?”_

Hayato hummed as he thought, eyes looking up toward the ceiling, body rocking back and forth where he was perched on his knees. _“The best part?”_

_“The absolute best part.”_

_“Ummm … [Giggle] But there are a lot of best parts!”_

_“That’s true, huh? Give me a good list then.”_

Hayato leaned on one elbow and actually started ticking things off on his fingers. _“He’s funny. He’s good at video games. He picks me up from school. He takes me swimming. He’s tall. He smiles a lot. He protects me a lot …”_

The list went on, and it was intercut with promptings from Asahi to expand upon specific stories and details about their routine as brothers, things like Kisumi sneaking Hayato ice cream in the middle of the night whenever he had bad dreams, or their tradition of digging for sea glass at the beach, or the secret code they liked to use to talk to each other without their parents knowing what they were saying.

_“He really makes me laugh a lot, especially when I’m nervous, and then I’m not nervous anymore.”_

_“That’s his trademark, huh, making people laugh?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_“Well, Hayato, we’re almost done with our interview. I have one more question to ask you.”_

_“Okay.”_

_“If there was one thing you could say to Kisumi right now, like encouragement or advice or anything you want, what would you say?”_

Hayato tilted his head to the side, body leaning. He looked over at something off to the side with a thoughtful but present stare, really mulling over the question as though he was aware he’d been given an opportune moment to say something important. He looked back at the camera, his lavender eyes big and suddenly full of more experiences than an eight-year-old should have.

_“I know he’s afraid,”_ he said very simply. _“So he doesn’t have to pretend. I used to be afraid of swimming. But then Coach Tachibana taught me a new way to swim, and I wasn’t afraid after that. Sooo …”_ Hayato shrugged. _“Maybe Oniichan just needs to learn a new way to swim.”_

Asahi remembered the tiny hammer that had tapped on one corner of his heart at the very moment that Hayato had said that, and the whole thing had shattered. It seemed Kisumi was experiencing something similar, if not more, because he was trembling with tears now, trying to stay quiet by keeping his breath muffled in his palms. There were several hands on his shoulders now, Yua’s, Ichika’s, and Makoto’s. Yua and Makoto were crying too, and Ichika held out the tissue packet between all three of them. Asahi placed his hand on Kisumi’s knee and gave it a squeeze.

_“That’s … incredibly poetic, Hayato. I think he’ll get a lot out of that.”_

_[Giggle] “Thank you!”_

Asahi had given Hayato a sad and tender smile at this point, quite unable to do much more than stare at him for a good long while, which the editing team had cut down for obvious reasons.

_“Thank you so much for being a part of our video, Hayato.”_

_“You’re welcome!”_

_“Would you like to say goodbye to everybody watching?”_

Hayato crowded the screen with a large smile and a happy wave. _“Bye, everybody! Bye, Oniichan! I love you!”_

Hayato kissed the camera and the screen went back to black. The movie title faded into view, and then the credits began to roll shortly after. An uproar of applause rose around the room, peppered with whistles and cheers, and everyone began to stand. Kisumi remained curled up in a ball in his seat, face buried in his knees, shoulders jerking. Asahi remained seated with him, his hand now trapped in Kisumi’s suffocating grasp.

He didn’t know how to read this, if it was something special or just painful. It wasn’t a happy kind of cry, but was it supposed to be? Was just being deeply touched enough to give Kisumi something more than sadness to hold onto? Was joy something that could be fully realized even in the midst of the darkest distress? Asahi had never wanted to absorb another person’s emotions more than in this moment right here. He’d never wanted to take anyone else’s pain before, never wanted to have it, and carry it, and experience it for himself just to save someone he cared about from being burdened by it themselves. He wished the responding strength of his grip could be enough to transplant that darkness, to pull that shadow away from Kisumi’s back. He wished he could do more than drop his paychecks into a collection box and publicly express what Kisumi meant to him. But the universe wasn’t that kind.


End file.
